


More To Love

by Anonymous



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Belly Kink, Burping, Button Popping, Consensual Humiliation, Domestic Bliss, Don't Like Don't Read, Kink Discovery, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Stuffing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Weight Gain, fat admiration, fat kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26723899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: John is anxious about the huge amount of weight he's put on. Paul doesn't know how to tell him he likes it.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 114
Kudos: 89
Collections: Anonymous Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: John is big in this. Not just chubby - properly fat.
> 
> This fic deals with that in fetish-y terms. If that isn't your jam..I'd recommend you read something else. 
> 
> You've been warned! To anyone still here, enjoy ♡

There was no two ways about it, John was getting fat. Or rather, Paul thought dryly as he watched his boyfriend get changed for bed, he was already fat. And getting fatter. 

He'd never been particularly skinny - even when they'd met a few years ago, Paul in his late teens, John at college, the older boy's body had soft ill defined edges. Definitely not toned. But he'd been too caught up in drink and drugs and activity to ever put on and not immediately lose any significant weight.

However, in the last 18 months or so, while Paul still worked outside the home, John had realised his dream of being an artist, and worked on commissions all day...in the house. Plus, they'd both moved farther and farther away from the wildness of their youth; their drink of choice was no longer spirits but a beer or two with a nice dinner. 

Anyway, Paul had also discovered some months ago just what John was eating during his days at home. Take out boxes of all types were shoved in their bin, not concealed per se, but definitely hastily thrown away. So John wasn't just having a big dinner with Paul when he got home, he was clearly having an even bigger feast on his own at lunchtime. 

Naturally, John had ballooned. Paul subtly catalogued the other man's body as he watched him undress. Every single part of him was thicker and heavier than it had been. His legs were thick and creamy, the thighs especially wide and rubbing together, his knees slightly dimpled. His arse was wider too, round and shaking with the slightest movement. Each cheek like a basketball. 

Even his arms were swollen, bingo wings well into development and his hands and fingers were inflated with fat too, no longer slender. 

One of the strangest changes for Paul to process was the softening of John’s face - his features had been pretty angular and pointed when they met. Had being the operative word. His whole face was now very bloated, cheeks bigger and rosier, sagging slightly under their own weight. And his chin... It had thickened and blurred, before dropping and filling out into a second. Until he had a whole roll of flab ringing his jaw, totally visible no matter the angle. It made him look very different. Still cute, mind. But different

Yet, the crowning glory was his belly. What once had been the barest curve of flesh was now a full on gut. It stuck out in front of him a considerable way, and then sank into a soft swaying overhang. It's weight created creases on his side and on his back, blubber stacked like pancakes. His tummy itself was more soft than round, liftable only with two hands, and adorned with various spidery pink stretchmarks and a deep belly button. 

It was this belly that John was currently trying to shove into a pyjama top. This top had been oversized a few months ago, but now pulled tight, his stomach hanging out the bottom of it. He sighed and hurriedly got into bed, turning his back to Paul. He sighed too. 

They were yet to have a real conversation about it all, despite the drastic nature of John's weight gain. Neither of them knowing how to start it. And their sex life had dried up - not through Paul's choice! To him, John was John. But his boyfriend pulled away from him now, covering himself up. It was incredibly frustrating. Still, Paul leaned over and pressed a good night kiss to that soft cheek.

"Love you," he whispered into John's long hair. There was a moment of silence then a relaxed sigh in the darkness.

"Love you too."

~ 

The next morning was like any other, the two of them bustling around their kitchen for their breakfast. Paul was sat down, tie not yet done, reading the paper, while a fully dressed John fetched himself some cereal. 

It happened when he sat down. John huffed himself into the creaky chair, when a pop resounded round the room, followed by a quiet clatter. Paul looked up from his paper to find his boyfriend, gaping, face reddening. His jeans sat open on his tummy, a v shaped section of it visible. The button of said jeans was lying on the other side of the room. 

John had burst out of his clothes. A shudder of...something ran through Paul at the thought. 

"Oh my god," John whispered, mortified, round face now the colour of a fire engine. 

"It's okay, it's okay," Paul moved to placate automatically, but John acted as though he hadn't heard him. 

"I'm going to lose this weight, I swear. I can't believe what I've fucking done to myself," John muttered, fury and embarrassment dripping from every word. 

"You don't have to," Paul was quick to reply. Both because it was true and because he knew it probably wouldn't happen. John didn't just overindulge - he'd become a glutton. Food was a staple of his life and he loved it, needed it. The chances of him losing any weight with his current ingrained habits were tiny. Again Paul shuddered at that thought, but not with disgust. Huh. Interesting..

"No, I'm gonna," John finished, sounding resolved. Paul only nodded, lost in his own thoughts. 

~

John didn't lose any weight. In fact, Paul suspected he'd actually put some on. A month later and his belly seemed to hang lower every passing day. 

It'd been a slow process, but Paul had come to realise that he enjoyed John's body, he didn't just tolerate it. Everything about his gain and his appetite turned him on - after all, they'd become part of John and he loved John entire. 

It all came to a head that night. They were kissing on the sofa, like usual, when John suddenly stiffened and pulled away. Paul almost growled in frustration. 

"Why are you stopping?" he groaned, seizing John's wrist. John only tried to pull away gently, face like thunder. 

"Is it because you're fat?" Paul blurted, lust having shredded his brain to mouth filter. 

His boyfriend recoiled like he'd been slapped, but his eyes narrowed, brow furrowing.

"Yes. Obviously." John hissed, seething and so close to pulling away. If he locked himself in their room Paul knew he'd lose this chance, so he threw caution to the wind and whispered his secret to the room.

"I like it." 

John froze. "What?"

"I like it. I think it's hot. I think you're hot. I mean, I've always thought you were hot but now-" 

John cut off his desperate ramblings, his voice disbelieving. 

"Are you having me on?"

Paul pulled a face, sitting up and taking John's hands in his own. 

"Yes, John. This is all some elaborate joke where I out myself as a chubby chaser for a laugh," he replied sardonically, but squeezed those plump hands at the same time. John blinked, slow and stupefied. 

"So, you're not planning on leaving me?"

Paul looked into John's eyes, trying to convey his next statement telepathically as well as audibly. 

"Of course not. I love you. And that goes for all of you, including your soft spot for cake." 

A smile broke across John's face like the sun breaking through the clouds and Paul pulled him in for another long, slow kiss. When they pulled away to breathe, John was grinning, happily flushed now. 

"Let me show you what I mean," Paul said, faces inches from John. "Let me order you some dinner."

John bit his lip, pupils dilating. "Okay."

~

He might have gone slightly overboard. Paul ordered a family meal deal - two pizzas, a garlic bread, a box of warm cookies and a two litre cola. Laid out on their coffee table, it looked like an insane amount of food. 

John hesitated for a moment, looking at it all, and glanced back at him. Paul nodded encouragingly and when he spoke his voice was silky and lustful. "Eat up." 

The bigger man didn't need much convincing. He was tentative for a few mouthfuls, hyper aware of his lover's burning gaze, but he soon fell into a rhythm. Paul watched, mouth dry and transfixed, as John shovelled food into his mouth. He was eating so quickly, movements almost automatic as he folded each pizza slice in half and swallowed it in two or three bites. 

Paul'd wonder if he was even enjoying it, except his eyes were closed in bliss, and occasionally he unintentionally let out a moan of pleasure that went straight to Paul's groin. 

In no time at all he'd demolished the garlic bread and both pizzas bar two slices. He slowed then, sitting back in his seat, panting and shifting uncomfortably. He was wearing sweatpants but still his stomach was rounded and packed, inflating in his lap. 

"Ugh, I'm getting full," he moaned, squirming a little. Paul, shaking with want, spoke up without even thinking about it. 

"Do you need help?" 

John's eyes shot open, and then meeting Paul’s, he nodded slowly. 

Paul leant forward and picked up one of the greasy slices, pushing it into John's greedy mouth. They made eye contact the whole time, and he could feel John's hot tongue on his fingers as he swallowed it almost whole. He picked up the other and did the same, the knowledge that the pizza he was pushing inside his boyfriend would eventually swell up his tummy or his butt or his already inflated chest making his head spin.

John was pliant beneath him, still ready for more. So he picked up the box of gooey cookies. The chocolate was messy, and some of it ended up smeared on John's chins and cheeks, though he hardly noticed. It made him look so delightfully piggish though. Before long he'd polished off that whole box too, and was breathing harshly. 

"Need a drink," he gasped and Paul quickly grabbed the coke bottle, holding it to John's lips. His boyfriend glugged it down, even as the carbonation painfully bloated him further. 

When it was pulled away the level was significantly lower and John's belly was cramping and stretched. He grabbed at it with one hand, rubbing the crest desperately, while the other hand flew to his mouth, embarrassment returning. 

Paul realised what was happening, and put his own hands on John's huge tummy, kneading it softly. 

"It's okay, let it out," he said soothingly, and John leaned back and let his hands drop.

As he did he belched and whined with relief, and then belched again, blushing.

"Oh my, urp, God," he grunted, pleasure and pain intermingling. Paul's cock was feeling the same, pressed hard against his trousers. 

He leaned down to press a kiss to John's churning belly, still rubbing all the while. From this angle John looked especially massive, obese gut swollen, tits soft, second chin wobbling as he burped and groaned.

Eventually he pulled himself back up for a kiss, thrilling in how their bodies fit together, convex and concave. Paul was so turned on he could barely speak, but still he managed to moan. "John, take me to bed."

The older man raised his eyebrows, amused, glancing down at himself. 

"Um, I would," he stifled a belch into his hand. "But look what you've bloody done to me." 

Paul stood up and rolled his eyes, heaving John to his feet. (Not an easy task, which thrilled him more.)

"Don't worry," he reassured, leading a staggering, waddling John to their room, "I'll do all the work."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely comments last time - and your suggestions, I hope you like what I've done with them <3 
> 
> CW: This chapter contains some fat shame-y language.

Their lives settled into a nice, new rhythm after _that night_ , as it was dubbed in Paul’s head. Slowly John was relaxing around him, finally grasping that yes, Paul liked all of this quite a bit. As he showed him pretty much every night.

Their sex life had recovered massively, and Paul was revelling in the opportunity to really explore John's changed body. To kiss along the soft round tummy, nibbling at that droopy overhang with his teeth. To probe the deepening belly button with two fingers, jiggling John's whole midriff from that vantage point while said man squirmed and keened beneath him. 

John seemed to be eating more too, or at least, be eating more openly. He didn't bother hiding his feasts from Paul anymore, finally understanding that the sight of discarded junk food wrappers in their kitchen thrilled the younger man. 

One day Paul had returned from work to find a pile of chocolate wrappers strewn across their kitchen table. John had been sat back, reading, but Paul could see the smudge of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. 

"How many of those have you eaten?" Paul asked, neutrally, but biting his lip against a smile.

John blinked up at him, playing innocent. "Uh, one or two…"

Paul raised his eyebrows.

"...Or six or seven.." John admitted somewhat sheepishly, flushing red. Paul just nodded, business-like, though still felt giddy at the thought. He picked up one of the wrappers to inspect it. 

" _Happy Hippos_.." he read aloud.

"Paul, if you're about to call me a happy hippo, I'm leaving you," John sniped dryly, pouting up at him. 

Paul gasped, mock-affronted. "You know I would never!" 

It was at that moment that both he and John broke out laughing and Paul surged forward to kiss him, settling himself in the tiny amount of real estate left on John's wide lap. John tasted of chocolate. He pulled away, and rested his forehead on John's, his hands finding his boyfriend's flabby sides and gripping. Love handles indeed. 

"Six or seven…" Paul muttered wonderingly, shaking that flesh gently. John's round face reddened, but when he spoke his voice was low and sultry. 

"There's another box in the pantry…" 

Paul was out of his lap and running in seconds. 

~ 

It was about a month later that they got the call. John's Aunt Mimi was no longer going to be fobbed off by phone calls and cards, she wanted to see her nephew in person. She wouldn't take no for an answer. 

Said nephew sat hyperventilating in the living room when Paul arrived home, and he rushed to his side, concerned. When John explained the situation, he didn't initially get why he might be panicking. Mimi could be cantankerous, yes, but she adored John, and vice versa. 

"But what's wrong?" Paul asked, frowning, and rubbing John's flabby upper arm comfortingly. 

John looked up at him in disbelief, and then down at himself. "I haven't seen Mimi in a year and a half," he hissed, seizing his gut roughly. "She hasn't seen this."

"Oh," Paul's mouth went dry, obviously his heart went out for John, but the reminder that only a year and a half ago the older man had been somewhat trim went straight to his crotch. He tried to shake that feeling off. 

"So, are you going to call ahead?" he asked.

John's face was flat and unamused. "Yeah, I'm gonna call ahead. 'Hi Mimi, just wanted to let you know that I've put on a crazy amount of weight, and I'm now quite fat, please don't faint when you see me.'" 

Paul cringed. "Okay, fair enough."

Groaning, John pitched forward, placing his head in his hands. "What the fuck am I going to do?" 

Paul hugged him immediately, wrapping his arms around him as far as they would go (they wouldn't quite meet comfortably anymore, which was a tidbit he filed away for a later date.) "Don't worry, I'll be with you. I'll tell her about something I've fucked up with at work, and she'll be back to giving speeches about how I don't deserve you in no time." 

The bigger man snorted at that, and leant into Paul's touch. After a moment or so of silence, he shifted to meet the other man's eyes. 

"So..what's for dinner?"

~ 

It was strange being back in Liverpool, the streets felt familiar and yet distant. Paul was holding John's hand, and walking at the slower pace that his boyfriend needed at his current size. His thighs were so wide that negotiating placing one leg in front of the other was a jiggly challenge. It wasn't quite a waddle (yet) but John definitely couldn't be called 'light on his feet.'

They were a few streets away from Mimi's when someone called Paul's name, and they stopped. 

One of their old friends, Ivan, was bounding over, enveloping Paul in a hug. 

"Long time no see, man!" he explained, but oddly, barely gave John a second glance. 

"Yeah, yeah, how have you been?" Paul enquired politely, conscious they couldn't stay long. 

"I'm good. I'm good. Say, do you still see much of John?" Ivan asked brightly.

Paul and John both froze. No. Surely not. Oh God.

Paul was the first to thaw, blinking slowly. "Yeah, we're still dating," he said slowly and clearly; proudly even. 

Ivan finally, finally properly looked at John, on Paul's arm. For a few seconds they could almost see the cogs turning in his brain, and his jaw dropped just as the penny did. 

"John?" he choked out in disbelief, taking in the sight of this John who must have been at least twice the previous John's size. It was the full face that had thrown him, John's face was now so tubby that without his defined chin or sharp features he was fairly hard to recognise. 

John flushed painfully, his thick jowls burning hot, but the feel of Paul squeezing his hand comfortingly did warm him enough for him to look at Ivan in the eye. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I changed my hair."

Ivan couldn't get away from them fast enough after that.

~ 

Mimi didn't faint when she answered the door, but she did go drip white, eyes bulging. Before recovering slightly and inviting them inside. 

She only lasted a few minutes of small talk until she broke, her voice just bordering shrill. 

"John Lennon, just what have you done to yourself?" 

John rolled his eyes, having been ready for this. "Nothing, Mimi," he grunted, glancing at her and then Paul, who was politely slipping on his provided drink. 

"Poppycock," Mimi scoffed. "Now are you ill?"

He sighed. "No, Mimi, I'm not ill, I'm fine." 

"Fine?" She screeched. Her eyes flicking from his fat face, to his curving chest, to his massive belly, complete with donut shaped navel indent showing through his shirt. As well as the way his whole overweight frame sank into her ancient patterned sofa. "You look like a beached whale." 

"He looks good," Paul interjected over the rim of his glass, diverting Mimi's burning stare onto himself.

"And you," she hissed. "You can't be happy with this, surely?"

"I'm very happy with John," he said calmly but firmly, and Mimi just sighed, infuriated, and sensing that she was going to get nowhere.

"Actually we were thinking about going on holiday…" Paul changed the subject, hoping getting Mimi to moan about airline providers and every hotel she'd ever stayed in would prove a distraction. It mostly worked, and John sighed in relief, though occasionally he'd still catch her glancing at him in shock. 

When they said goodbye however, she pressed a kiss to his forehead and stroked his auburn hair, even as she wittered on about one of his cousins and her personal trainer. 

"Well, that was fucking dreadful," John moaned as they walked down the street, half-joking. 

Paul nodded sympathetically, pulling him in for a one armed hug. 

"Well I'm proud of you," he said. "And let me take you out for dinner before we head back to the hotel, you deserve it after that." 

John grinned at the thought, already cheered. "Okay."

~ 

They picked a Chinese buffet in the end. Paul quietly requested a table with free standing chairs while John looked at the art on the walls, aware that John may struggle to comfortably fit in a booth. The waitress just nodded and led them to their table. 

Despite the buffet being unlimited, John still greedily piled his first plate high, digging in pretty much the second he sat down. Paul nibbled at his own dinner, but mostly gazed at John, transfixed, as he shovelled greasy chicken and noodles and rice and chips into his mouth. 

John had cleared his own plate before Paul was even half way through his, and wordlessly stood up to refill. Paul watched him with a bit lip, noticing that already his belly seemed that little bit rounder.

He returned with even more this time, and wasted no time in devouring it. Alternately swallowing huge mouthfuls and gulping down fizzy drink. By the time he'd finished that second heaped plate, Paul could tell he was starting to feel full. He kept reaching to rub at his swollen midriff, stifling quiet moans into a napkin or behind his hand. 

"Are you finished?" Paul asked gently, and was shocked when John shook his head. 

"I want, ugh, I want a little more," he slid the plate across the table. "Would you go get it for me?" 

Paul did so happily, hot pinpricks rushing up and down his body as he did. Why was the thought of his boyfriend being too lazy and full to stand up for more food so sexy?

John was a little slower with the smaller and final plate, but still ate it all. When he finished he immediately began clutching his tummy, face pained yet sated. 

Paul pulled John to his feet, marvelling at how packed and firm his belly looked, pulling against his stretchy shirt. He sent John outside to hail a cab while he went back to the server.

"Could you package up some dessert for me? I think we'll want some later." 

~ 

The taxi journey had been a kind of exquisite torture, with the driver trying to make light conversation while a stuffed John squirmed, teeth locked together, up against him. The relief when they finally got to their room was divine, John could breathe. And groan. To his heart's content.

The second he did Paul began kissing him, hands kneading that swollen belly. John broke the kiss suddenly, blushing bright red and belching into his hand.

"Oh fuck, urp, sorry," he gasped.

Paul laughed quietly but his eyes softened. "You know I don't mind," he kept massaging gently, coaxing out a few more relieving burps.

"That feels, urppp, so good," he moaned sinking into the double bed, letting Paul gently wriggle off both their shirts. 

After a few minutes of rubbing the gurgling in John's tummy subsided a little, and he spoke into the quiet room.

"I liked it today."

Paul lay beside him, parallel to him on the bed, and found his eyes. "What do you mean?" 

"I liked it today. When Mimi called me a whale. When Ivan was staring. Like, obviously I hated it but I also _liked_ it, you know?"

Realisation coalesced in Paul's mind. "Ah, I see. And you'd maybe like me, though I obviously love you, to...poke fun at you a bit sometimes?" 

John bit his lip, but nodded. 

Paul sat up, swinging one leg across John's wide legs, straddling him just below his swollen belly, lightly tracing his belly with his fingers. 

"And you'd like me to call you a whale?" he whispered shakily, rubbing that tummy more firmly, shaking it, slapping the bottom of it lightly. John nodded, trembling.

"What about pig? Would you like me to remind you what a pig you were this evening?" Paul said silkily. John groaned out loud, writhing.

"Y-yeah," he breathed.

"To tell you how you stuffed yourself full until you could barely walk. How everyone was staring. Such a pig." Paul punctuated every sentence with a kiss, and even as he teased his voice shook with reverence. 

"Oh, that reminds me," Paul sat up slowly, grabbing for his black messenger bag, and pulling out the polystyrene take out box inside. "I asked for something before I left." 

He lifted the lid, showing John the contents. A huge wedge of rich chocolate cake lay inside, enough for four or five people. It was glistening with a good inch of gloopy icing, and smelt divine. John's eyes widened, and he wet his lips unconsciously. 

"Do you have a fork?" he asked, barely taking his gaze from the cake.

"Ah shit, no," Paul said, briefly breaking from the fantasy. "We could ring down to reception for one?" 

John shook his head. "Don't bother. I don't need it." 

And with that, he reached out and grabbed one of the slices with his hand, and lifted it to his lips, taking a bite like it was an apple. Frosting was already all over his fingers and round his mouth and he was staring at Paul with a look that was almost..a challenge. 

Paul had to suppress a moan at the sight. "Pig," he whispered, as John smirked and took another bite. He ate messily deliberately, breathing heavily. He'd finished the one slice in no time, and Paul was almost breathless with want. 

John stared at him, panting, when he'd finished. "Say that again."

Paul fisted the bed covers, feeling hot all over, leaning forward for a chocolatey kiss. "You're a fat pig," he whispered, like it was a declaration of love. John closed his eyes in pleasure, and then turned his attention back to the container of cake. Paul thought he was going to reach for another slice, but he didn't. 

Instead he leaned down to the box, and put his whole face to the cake, eating the rest of it without his hands. On all fours, his stretch marked belly hung almost to the bed, and his arms shook as he grunted and groaned into that chocolate sludge, slurping it up. 

So much of Paul's blood rushed south at the same time that he thought he'd pass out. "Oh my God," he gasped, just watching, mesmerised, as his boyfriend fed like a pig from a trough.

After a short while John lifted his head, breathing deeply, feeling full again. Cake was _everywhere_ \- all over his face, up his cheeks, on his chins, even clumping in his long hair. He'd eaten almost all of it, though some remained, squished and shapeless from his messy eating. 

Paul scooped the rest of it out with his own hand, and pushed it into John's mouth. Both moaned at the same time, John as he felt himself pushed to the limit by the last of the cake, and Paul at the feeling of his boyfriend licking and sucking at the ends of his fingers. 

When it was gone, they began kissing once more, heedless of the sticky mess that was now being rubbed onto Paul's face too. Paul but one hand on John's belly, feeling how hard it was beneath that layer of softness, and pressing firmly, making John moan again. The other hand he ran up and down his back, gripping each roll lovingly before settling on a still clothed soft arse cheek. 

When they pulled apart, John belched again. He still flushed red, but he didn't apologise, didn't break eye contact. He rode the embarrassment like a wave, and bit his lip when Paul moaned at the sound, wobbling his overhang roughly. The movement made him do it again.

"Oh, urp, Paul.." he sighed, contented, even as Paul began dropping frenzied kisses all over his tummy and chest and face. 

"I love you, I love you, I love you. I swear it's like you were _made_ for me," he gushed, almost worshipful. 

John grinned. "Made for you? I'm older, remember?"

"Still, it just have been fated or something," Paul insisted, glancing up with a wink between kisses. 

"Oh, how did that go? The Fates were like 'there's going to be this guy with a terrible sense of humour and a hell of a kink, let's make sure he has an other half to match?'" John teased.

Paul nodded fervently, kissing up John's body, his warm full tummy, his swollen chest, his wobbly chin, his still sticky lips. Until he was positioned on top of him, and gazing down at him lovingly. "Yeah. Exactly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> If there is any interest in/requests for a part 3 let me know! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh this is running away from me....! 
> 
> I really hope you like it though. <3

Paul was fairly sure he’d never been so content in all his life. His relationship with John had always been wonderful, feeling like he’d clicked with his other half, two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, but now it was even better, as they rode this new ride together. John’s body wasn’t just attractive to him now, it sent him absolutely _wild_ \- and in turn that reaction had given John the confidence to indulge in behaviour he’d only ever daydreamed about. 

John ate to his heart’s content; which was pretty much all the time. He tended to graze all day, rarely being without some kind of snack, a family bag of crisps or a four pack of chocolate bars, and he still had three large meals. Particularly large was the evening meal, often made or provided by Paul, who watched him eat it with his heart in his eyes. 

John’s greedy, lazy habits were beginning to become ingrained, the movement of lifting things to his mouth and then after, massaging his own belly, was becoming automatic. A few days ago he’d ventured out to a coffee shop alone and treated himself to lunch (two sandwiches, crisps, a slice of cake and a piece of cherry tart) and he’d scoffed the whole thing obscenely fast. Then, without even thinking about it he’d started fondling his own soft gut, letting out satisfied sighs and quiet belches. He’d only remembered where he was when he looked up and caught the disgusted glance the barista was throwing at him. His blush had felt like flames on his face, and he’d lumbered out of there as fast as his body would allow. 

John's weight was still slowly ticking up. He hadn't weighed himself in well over 18 months, but he could feel it. He felt heavier all the time, and though he spent most of his time in stretchy sweatpants with baggy t-shirts, he could feel even those start to pull flush to his body. Paul loved watching that belly rise like bread dough, but it did make him want to have a long awaited conversation. 

So one night, while dinner was on the stove, Paul broached the subject.

"John?" He settled himself on the settee next to his boyfriend, who paused in his reading to look up at him questioningly. 

"Paul?" He mimicked, cheekily, and Paul laughed, before clearing his throat, and wondering why his heart was pounding so loudly in his ears. 

"John, how - well, how _big_ do you want to get? I'm with you whatever, right? It's your decision. But I noticed that you still seem to be..gaining, and I wanted to check that you were happy with everything we've been doing?" 

John folded down a page corner in his book, placing it on their coffee table. His fat face settled into a thoughtful pout, an expression that emphasised his second chin. It was adorable, Paul thought.

"I haven't really thought about it," John admitted. "I've been too caught up in what we've been doing. I don't even know what I weigh now - I was 170lbs the last time I checked." 

Paul had difficulty swallowing on hearing that. 170lbs. Christ. "Would you like to know?" he asked gently. 

John bit his lip. "I'm not sure I'd be accurately measured by our old scale…" 

"I bought a new one. It has an extended range," Paul confessed guiltily, having made the purchase in a specific stuff-John-might-want shop that he hadn't disclosed. His boyfriend's eyes widened minutely at that, and he looked up at him fully. 

"Yeah?" he asked, but when his voice quivered it was with anticipation.

~ 

John stood on the scale, feeling hot all over just from that action alone. When he did sneak a glance down, he almost laughed aloud at the realisation that he wouldn't be able to see the numbers anyway, all he could see was a sloping expanse of clothed belly.

"Paul, could you read what it says? I can't see," he tried to say it casually, but he could see the way Paul's eyes widened and his nostrils flared when he realised his view was blocked by his own tummy. 

"Sure," he said, voice a bit hoarse, but otherwise unmoved. But even unflappable Paul couldn't restrain his gasp when he saw the readout. John shuddered.

"What? What is it?" 

Paul was gaping like a fish though, eyes flicking between the scale and John's body in disbelief. Red was spreading across his cheekbones, and when he answered the words were husky, infused with lust. 

"352lbs."

John's knees suddenly felt weak, and he reached out for Paul's arm to steady himself, stepping off the scale, but not letting go. With his free hand he rubbed down his own expansive side, feeling just how far he bulged, how wide he was. Over 350lbs of him. 

"Wow," he whispered and he felt the shiver that induced in Paul, who looked him in the eye. 

"Yeah," Paul breathed. Reaching out to tug John to him properly, using one hand to heft up his belly, as though weighing it by touch. 

"I've gained more weight than I used to weigh," John said neutrally, thrilling in the way Paul's grip on him tightened at that, his eyes closing. 

"I want to gain more," he admitted, hushed, and Paul's eyes flew open. 

"You - you do?" He stumbled over the question, brain running slightly behind time. 

John only hummed, reaching up to loop his arms around Paul's neck, his rotund belly bouncing lightly against his partner's firm one. "Yeah, I do. Will you help me?" 

"Of course," Paul promised earnestly. "Whatever you want." John leaned in for a kiss and a few seconds of that seemed to pull Paul from his shocked stupor. 

"How much more?" Paul asked when they broke apart, trying to ignore the electricity rippling up and down his spine as he felt all the places John's body curved out to meet his own. 

John hummed thoughtfully. "I don't really know - or want to track it obsessively. I just want to carry on doing what we're doing. I guess I'll know if I want to stop, and I'll tell you. But for now, well, 400 doesn't sound bad…" 

"400lbs? Right." Paul tried to clarify coolly, but it came out as more of a squeak. He cleared his throat, still hugging a smirking John to him, trying to pull himself together, say something a little more controlled.

"I wonder how you'll gain…" Paul began, meeting John's gaze again. John who shifted on his chubby feet at the thought. 

"Whether it'll all go to your belly. It'll get heavier and lower, until you won't even believe it's part of you.." he murmured, fingering that belly lightly. John shook, transfixed, but picked up the baton. 

"Or maybe it'll all go to my legs. Maybe my thighs will spread more. Start rolling at the top," he pulled himself close, basically grinding against Paul's body. 

Paul choked out a moan, but gathered himself enough to lean forward and drop kisses on John's chubby cheeks, to graze his teeth against that thick double chin. "Your face might finish filling out. It'll become _completely_ round, and you'll lose what's left of your neck," he punctuated the statement with a quick nibble at the side of John's thick throat. 

"This is just it," John said both serious and sultry, taking a step back. "I don't know what I'll look like in a few months time. I'm giving that up. I won't be able to control it. I just hope you like it." 

"I will," Paul vowed, utterly serious, warmed by the slow smile that made spread across John's still pink face. 

"Well, good," he grinned. And then. "Do you think dinner is ready?" 

~

Dinner was ready, Paul had made basically a vat of spaghetti, and was currently nibbling on his own portion. John however, was devouring his huge plateful, not even bothering to twirl it up onto his fork, just using said utensil to scoop it into his mouth. Strings of greasy spaghetti kept getting stuck on the side of his face, and his plump cheeks were sticky and stained orange. 

"Is it good?" Paul enquired, stifling a laugh. 

"Mmm. So good." John moaned, muffled with his mouth full. 

They returned to the bedroom pretty soon after dinner, the pent up energy from their earlier conversation still skittering beneath their skin, exacerbated by John's now stuffed state. Every nerve ending was alive for him, and he groaned and rubbed his belly, while the sight was sending Paul crazy. 

Neither of them were thinking straight, which is why John ended up on Paul's side of the bed undressing and not his own. Paul, unlike John, had a wicker chair by his bedside table, because he liked to rise early and work. John rarely sat in it, and hadn't for months, but now in his haste, he went to plonk himself down in it so he could remove his shoes. 

Paul saw what he was about to do a split second before he did. "John no, _don't_!"

As John's weight hit the chair, there was an ear splitting crack, and the wicker came apart. John hit the carpeted floor with a _thump_ , landing flat on his back, the chair beneath him basically reduced to twigs. 

"Oh my God," Paul hurried over, kneeling down next to his boyfriend, who was still wobbling all over from the impact like a jelly. 

"Paul, I'm so sorry," John breathed, shocked and mortified.

"Sorry about what? The chair? Sod the stupid chair. Are you alright?" He asked, concern flooding his voice, hands fluttering over John's body. Everything looked fine, but it had been a pretty heavy fall. 

"I'm fine," John reassured. "I just murdered your chair," he admitted, sheepish. 

Paul breathed a sigh of relief, there was no note of pain in John's voice. Now the worry was dissipating, he started to giggle. "Yeah, you did rather." 

"Stop laughing!" John protested, though it was rather undermined by the fact that he was shaking with laughter too. 

"Poor old chair. Smashed flat by your arse. What a way to go," he teased, straddling John where he lay, kissing up from his chest to his face.

"C'mon, like that wouldn't be your dream way to go," John said dryly, and Paul laughed out loud.

"Touché." 

Paul leant down to kiss him, and the kisses became deeper and more languid as time went by. When they pulled apart to breathe, they did so with their faces only inches apart. 

"Hi," John said softly.

"Hi yourself," Paul replied, tucking some of that auburn hair behind John's ear. 

"You gonna fuck me right here on the floor?" John said lowly, looking at Paul from under his lashes. 

Paul began tugging at John's sweatpants, and his own trousers immediately, finishing John's shoe removal too. "I was thinking about it, yeah," he said teasingly. His own cock was already hard, and he could see John’s was too. He reached blindly for the lube on his bedside table, not taking his eyes off of John’s shaking body - nude from the waist down, his shirt rolled up revealing his pink stripey packed belly. 

“Beautiful,” he breathed, before grabbing John’s fleshy hips, trying to hitch him up. God, he was heavy. This just didn’t work the way it used to work, and he dropped him with a sigh, breathing heavily. 

“Everything okay?” John asked. 

“Yeah, yeah...I read something, just two seconds...” Paul said comfortingly, kneeling up and grabbing two plump pillows and shoving them under John’s lower back. The angle worked a treat, making every roll and curve slump back, revealing John’s cock fully, and making everything more accessible. “Is that alright? Comfy?” 

John nodded, smirking lightly. “Paul, have you been googling ‘how to best fuck my fat boyfriend’ or something?”

“No!” Paul cried, affronted. “I googled ‘best sex positions with a plus size lover’ actually.” John’s answering cackle was loud and delighted. 

“That’s pretty much the same thing, baby.”

Paul kissed him again, quieting that laughter. The kiss became wet and messy quickly, and Paul began to grope every inch of John he could reach. His sides, his belly, even reaching down to squeeze that slippery softness _beneath_ John’s belly, encroaching on his genitals, an addition that had made him squirm with embarrassment. Paul adored every inch of him though, and made sure he knew that. 

“Stop teasing,” John moaned into the kiss, bucking his hips up. 

The younger man sat back, lubing up his own cock, and John’s hole, slowly and carefully. Though his hands trembled with arousal. 

John moaned when he felt Paul’s fingers enter him, that stretching feeling combining with the still stretched feeling in his tummy, making his head spin. When those fingers were replaced by Paul’s cock he cried out, keening and whining. Each of Paul’s thrusts jiggled his belly, his whole body swaying. 

Paul moaned too, feeling John’s flesh ripple and slap against him, sweaty and flushed. He was hyper aware that one of his hands was pressed against the carpet and some broken remnants of chair. A chair that John had been so fat for it’d snapped. Fuck, fuck, fuck- 

“You’re perfect. You’re gonna be perfect. So big and fat and perfect,” Paul groaned, feeling lust crest inside him like a wave. 

“Yes, yes, you’re helping me…” John panted, so easily breathless now. “I can’t stop now. You’ve turned me into such a fat _pig_ ,” he gasped desperately, and the words sent Paul over the edge, and he came with a choked off yell. John followed suit, coming all over the bottom of his own soft tummy. His breath was harsh, liked he’d just run a marathon, and Paul collapsed atop him, kissing his soft shoulder. 

“That was…” Paul started, shuddering. 

“Yeah,” John said brokenly, utterly blissed out, face shiny with sweat. 

Paul got up slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed, offering both hands to John, pulling him up too (which took a considerable effort) and holding him flush to his side, where he dozed for a moment, open-mouthed against his shoulder, sated in every way. 

After a few minutes John blinked sleepily, his hair still wild, body still in need of a wipe down, and turned to Paul, who smiled lovingly at him.

“Paul?”

“Hmm?”

“Is there anything in for supper?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will feature a holiday somewhere sunny :O 
> 
> Anyway, I always want to here what people think, so let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank-you to CelesteFitzgerald for the next chapter of their chubby John fic, I adored it <3
> 
> And lots of love to bellbottomtears, for their chats and their cheerleading. Mwah. xxx

It was a few weeks later when Paul floated the idea of a holiday - he’d had paid leave days piling up at work, and it’s been too long since he and John got away together, just the two of them. When he first mentioned it one evening, they were curled up on the sofa together, Paul’s head on John’s fleshy shoulder, one hand on his soft middle, and John’s immediate reaction was to smile. Then his face fell. 

“Like abroad?” he asked, attempting to sound nonchalant but failing, Paul sat up a little, studying his face. 

“Yeah, I was thinking Spain maybe, it would be nice to get somewhere less grey,” he replied, trying to impart some of his enthusiasm onto John, who just grimaced. 

“On a plane?” John sounded properly crestfallen then. Oh. Paul sat up fully, knowing what was going on, and that he needed to tread carefully here. 

“Are you worried about not fitting?” he enquired gently, stroking the hand on John’s domed belly up and down slowly. It’s a very real fear, his boyfriend probably wouldn’t fit on a plane without a few adjustments, he was just too wide, his body bulging in every direction. Far beyond the realm of being able to suck it in and suck it up. John’s round face coloured violently, and he nodded. Usually John was pretty confident, especially around Paul, but reminders that he was literally outgrowing the ‘normal world’ still made his head spin and his face flush with embarrassment. 

“I did think about that,” Paul commented softly, pressing a kiss to that clothed shoulder. “The flight I was looking at, you could take the window seat, and I’ll take the aisle, that way the only seat you’re spilling over into is mine, and I couldn’t care less. Plus...you probably _would_ need a seat belt extender, but you can order them online, so you can avoid having to ask for one,” it was Paul’s turn to go pink then. “I might have already ordered one. It’s upstairs, if you want to use it.” 

When he glanced up to meet John’s eyes, they’d gone all soft. “What did I do to deserve you?” he wondered aloud, half teasing, half genuinely moved. Paul winked at him cheekily, and then leant in for a slow and gentle kiss. 

“So what do you say?”

John’s smile was back, his chub creating adorable dimples below his jowly cheeks. “I say Spain sounds good.”

~

Despite Paul's comforting words and general preparedness John was still nervous at the airport, chewing on a hang nail. It didn't help matters that he was twice the man he was in his passport photo, meaning he got to watch both a stewardess and a passport official gape at the photo and then up at him, then back at the photo. 

When they eventually did get on the plane, his heart was hammering, and sweat was beading on his forehead. Paul was trying to soothe his anxiety with whispered reassurances and gentle squeezes to his hand, but it wasn't working fully. The plane just felt too small. Or rather he felt too _big_ , shuffling down that tiny aisle, bumping into people. With others openly staring at him thinking 'god, please don't let the fat guy sit next to me' - it made his neck prickle with uncomfortable heat.

When they did find their seats, Paul ushered him in with gentle hands. It was a tight squeeze, with him filling his allocated space easily. His belly ended up sitting on his lap, huge and heavy. It almost reached the seat in front, there was no way he could pull his seat back table down fully. 

He knew he had to keep the armrest down for take off and landing, so he had to negotiate his rolls of flab under and over it. It ended up horribly jammed into his side, but down. It was with a futile hope that he tried the seatbelt, and as expected, there was a gap of almost ten inches between the buckle and the other side. Paul handed him the extender instantly, and he did manage to click it into place. He was in. 

Only when he was taken care of did Paul sit down, sliding into that small gap. One of his legs was slightly squashed by John, and he couldn't quite sit comfortably. But he too got his belt buckled, arm rest down. 

John closed his eyes, his breathing slowing. This was insanely uncomfortable, and he knew he couldn't move for the rest of the flight - but where would he go anyway? The bathroom? He wasn't even sure the plane bathroom's door would shut with him inside, and even if it did there wasn't a hope in hell of him managing to get his pants down and in a sitting position in that tiny space. 

As if hearing his thoughts, Paul leant over, kissed his soft cheek and murmured. "It's only for two hours and then we'll have a lovely time. But please, please tell me if you need something, don't suffer in silence."

John cracked his eyes open and smirked. "Can you write a letter to the aviation industry telling them that people with big arses like to go on holiday too?" 

Paul grinned. "You think I haven't already done that?"

Paul genuinely had done it, was the thing. Being with John was opening his eyes to the myriad of ways that people with larger bodies were discriminated against, and he was pretty angry. He'd written so many letters of complaint that he was beginning to lose count. John would just watch him and roll his eyes, telling him that his one man campaign against institutionalised fatphobia was like trying to put out a forest fire with a dinky plastic watering can. Still, warmth bloomed inside him when Paul got like this, because it was ultimately borne of Paul's protective streak. His boyfriend wanted things to be better for him. That was...nice. 

John just laughed in response, leaning back and trying to relax. Paul leant against him, and they spoke in hushed tones about anything and everything for the whole flight. Laughing with Paul distracted him from his discomfort and alleviated his self consciousness too. It was only him and Paul. Only they mattered. 

~

The villa they were renting was beautiful, open plan with soft cream furnishings and gleaming tiles. Out back was a private terrace and pool, with high fences for privacy. Lush verdant plants decorated said fences, most with the kind of fat leaves that pop with water when squeezed. It was perfect. 

Their first morning there was a dream, it was warm in the room and John could still hear the soft _tck-tck-tck_ of the fan they'd set up on their bedside table. They were sharing one thin sheet instead of a duvet, but it didn't cover them fully. John was, naturally taking up most of the space, but he was still Paul's not so 'little' spoon. 

Paul's open-mouthed face was pressed against the squishy mounds that used to be John's shoulder blades, his skinny legs tangled with John's thick ones. One of his hands was resting on John's belly, which lay next to him in bed like a wobbly bean bag chair.

He felt it when Paul stirred, nuzzling his face into his chubby back. "Mmm. Morning baby," he whispered, making John smile. 

"Morning," he replied, finding the hand on his tummy and holding it.

They got ready slowly and lazily - Paul in a floral shirt and shorts, and John in a big t-shirt with his own swimming trunks. John had traded his usual specs for his prescription sunglasses, and slipped his chubby feet into a pair of flip flops. 

It was only a short wander into the nearby town, it was quiet - not abandoned, tourists were definitely milling about, but they got a seat in an English-style breakfast cafe easily. They sat on white plastic garden chairs under a parasol, the air already heating, even in the morning. 

Paul ordered himself some cheese on toast and a coffee. John ordered himself a full English breakfast, with extra toast, a few chocolate croissants and a frothy chocolate covered cappuccino. Once Paul had finished his own toast, he took great pleasure in stabbing bites of John's meal onto his own fork, and feeding them to John, who just sat back, periodically opening his mouth, basking in the warmth of the day and the feeling of his full tummy. 

When it was time for them to leave, John made to stand up and then faltered. Paul, who had already thrown down the money for the bill and was ready to go looked at him with concern.

"You alright?" He asked quietly, brow furrowed.

"Um, I'm a bit stuck," John grimaced, gesturing to the tight plastic chair, it's stiff arms pressed firmly against his voluptuous thighs and behind. 

Paul offered John one hand, and held the chair flush to the floor with the other. When he pulled and John made to stand, the chair popped free, lightly clattering back to the ground. John was blushing a deep red, but laughing too, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Note to self, check chairs before I sit in them…" he muttered. Paul smiled warmly, grabbing his hand and starting to leave. 

"You'll just have to sit in my lap instead," he said, only half joking. 

~

They went to the supermarket to stock up the house before heading back. John was throwing stuff in the trolley with abandon, some of it branded stuff he recognised from home - crisps, chocolate, ice cream. But some of it was new and exotic, as he chucked in some lemon polenta cake and variations of soft drink they didn't have back in Blighty. 

He scoffed some of the stuff even as Paul was trying to put it away in the villa kitchen. John walked away with a whole lemon cake and a two litre bottle of Fanta Pineapple, taking it outside on the terrace. By the time Paul walked out to join him, both the cake box and the bottle were empty, and John was lying shirtless on his back by the pool, his patterned towel laid out on the ground. 

His distended stomach mounded up like a hill, pale and decorated by pink stretchmarks. Above it John's soft breasts sloped to either side, just resting on the curve of his belly. When Paul approached he grabbed for the beach bag, seeing how pink and warm John's skin already looked. 

John cracked his eyes open, and smiled at Paul, sated. 

"That cake was, urp, so good," he grunted, cupping his own belly, shaking it slightly, and belching again. 

"Glad you liked it," Paul smiled, before pulling a blue bottle out of his bag. "But you really need some cream on or you're going to be the colour of a lobster by the end of the day." 

John just nodded sleepily, and Paul rolled his eyes and smiled at his boyfriend's laziness. 

He squirted sun cream onto his own hands, and began lathering it all over John's torso, protecting that creamy flesh. His slick hands slid in and out of John's side rolls as he massaged, smoothing in the lotion. He couldn't resist rubbing a little more firmly than he needed to on that stuffed gut, his wet hands massaging thoroughly, fingers slipping in and out of his navel, forcing out another belch that made John apologise quietly, before he belched again when the pressure became too much. 

Paul finished by removing John's glasses and creaming up his face, two fingers working on those tubby cheeks, that double chin. He pinched both cheekily as he worked, making John screw his face up adorably. 

John was asleep by the time he'd finished, sleeping off his snack. Paul smiled indulgently at him, kissing his forehead and settling down to read by the water.

When John woke an hour or so later, he wanted to get in the pool. He wobbled himself down the metal step ladder, not trusting himself to just jump in the way Paul had. Being in the water was such an odd feeling. Fat floats slightly, so John felt both strangely weightless and inordinately huge.

Paul was fascinated by the way John's body looked in the water, the way all that pale flab undulated and rippled with the slightest movement. He groped greedily at John's tummy, revelling in the way his overhang seemed to bounce in slow motion when jiggled. He was pulled out of his reverie by water hitting his face. 

John, who had splashed him, was smirking, arms crossed. "Sir, will you stop playing with me please? I'm not a toy." He said, faux-posh. 

"Did you just splash me?" Paul gasped, face dripping wet. 

John's eyes gleamed. "Might have done." 

"You little-" Paul started, before he was splashed again, right in the face. He retaliated this time, clumsily splashing back at John, who shrieked, trying to bounce away. 

They chased each other in circles, comically slow, and by the end, both of them were sporting messy soaked hair, and laughing so hard they couldn't breathe. Paul eventually pinned John against the side of the pool, his hands gripping tight onto John's bulging love handles, ghostly pale beneath the water. 

Sucking in a breath, John bit his lip, second chin wobbling as he felt Paul grind up against his pillowy body. "Got you," Paul whispered, before leaning in for a kiss. 

~

The rest of the holiday was much the same. They relaxed most days, by the pool or by the beach. Paul actually went swimming in the ocean, John just paddled, not bothered for the exercise. 

Once when he was wading out the sea, Paul had caught sight of his boyfriend, laid out on a towel, sat up slightly, leaning on their beach bag. He was just so _wide_ , his belly so heavy. Draped on the beach like that, sucking on a slushie, the only words that came to mind were the same Mimi had used months ago - _beached whale._ He was glad to be partially floating when his knees went weak at the thought.

He told John just what he'd observed that night. They'd collected a take away dinner from a restaurant, and Paul was straddling John at a jaunty angle across the bed, dropping greasy chips into his greedy gaping mouth. John was gasping between mouthfuls, with hunger and with desire. 

"And you looked like such a whale," Paul concluded his tale, voice both silky and shaky, as he pushed in the last of the chips. John mewled at the words, shifting on the bed. 

"More. Need more," John gasped, despite the tightness in his belly. 

Paul ran his fingers over his swollen gut gently, feeling the flesh goose pimple. "Greedy boy," he whispered, like it was a compliment. For them, it was. John just licked his lips. 

When Paul reached for the ice cream he'd set on the bed side table, he realised that the heat of the room had already melted it. He was about to extract himself from John and go get something else when John seized his arm, his pupils blown wide.

"No, let me drink it," he said, reaching for the carton and removing the lid. Paul watched in astonishment as John began to gulp down the gloopy chocolate mixture. Some of it ran in rivulets down his round face, but most of it he swallowed, letting out a muffled moan. 

The tub was empty in less than two minutes, and John let it drop onto the tiled floor. He leant back, satisfied and smiling. 

"John, that was 1500 calories," Paul said, shellshocked, every nerve ending alive with electricity. John just shrugged, rubbing at his belly half-heartedly. 

"You're such a pig," Paul commented lovingly. John lifted his head at that, the fat beneath his chin bubbling and making his neck vanish. He found Paul's eyes and deliberately grunted and snorted, piggish. Paul felt like he'd had boiling water poured over him he was so turned on, and lunged forward for a kiss. 

He wrapped his arms around John's thick torso and sucked and bit at his mouth almost violently. John kissed back just as passionately, groaning and thrashing, but when he did, there was a loud _crack_ and _thud_ and the two of them suddenly found themselves nearer the ground, pulling apart with a gasp. 

"Oh shit," John squeaked, but Paul started laughing hysterically. A few of the bed's slats had snapped clean away, and now the mattress sat strangely on the frame. 

"That was my fault," Paul said, both soothing and amused. "I was basically bouncing us on the bed." 

John bit his lip. "Still. What are we going to do?"

Paul kissed him again. "We're going to sleep in the other bedroom from now on, I'm going to pay the excess for the bed and we're going to carry on kissing, because I wasn't done yet." 

John grinned, and then pulled him back in for a chocolatey kiss. 

~ 

The end of their holiday was fast approaching, and it had been just what they needed. Two weeks in their own little world, sun and sex and good food. So much good food. John had been stuffed almost every second he was awake, or at least that's how it felt. Paul thought he'd put weight on even since they'd arrived. John's face seemed fuller, his cheeks chubbier still, his whole visage wider. Plus he was sure one or two new stretchmarks had bloomed around the bottom curve of his belly, that soft overhang getting heavier all the time. 

Still, it was their penultimate evening here, and Paul had yet to buck up the courage to do what he'd actually come here to do. 

They were walking hand in hand through the harbour, the lights from bars and restaurants and boats glimmering on that dark water like stars. John was wearing a loose (so pretty huge) white button down, with dark trousers. His hair was soft and freshly washed, and his skin was freckled by the sun. He was wearing his glasses, and peering over at them at some stone jewellery on a little stall. Paul loved him. 

They only got a few more steps when Paul paused, staring out at the water. John stopped too, worried.

"You okay?" He asked, concerned. 

Paul smiled, and the box in his pocket burned. "Yeah. I've just got something I've been meaning to ask you." 

"Yeah?" John replied, unsure. 

"Yeah. Well. It's stupid. No, it's not stupid. It's not stupid at all. But, you can say no, if you want to-" 

"What the heck are you talking about?" John cut him off. Paul took a shaky deep breath, and sunk to one knee, fetching the box out of his pocket. John's eyes bulged in his head, and he seemed to stop breathing. 

"John. I love you more than anything. Will you marry me?" 

John just blinked as he clicked the box open, his face white as a sheet. "Are you serious?" 

Normally Paul would have sarcastically responded with, "Nah, this is just a really expensive joke," but he felt like his heart was in a vice so he just said, "Deadly." 

John blinked once more and swallowed loudly, and Paul thought he could see wetness gathering at the edges of his eyes. "Yes. Yeah, I will," he whispered.

Paul let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "You will?"

His boyfriend (fiancé?) smiled then, with mingled joy and disbelief. "Yes. Obviously, yes." Paul grabbed at that white shirt, pulling John down to him, and kissing him desperately. John fell heavily to his knees too, laughing. 

"Paul, you've missed a step," he nodded towards the ring, eyeing it meaningfully.

"Oh!" Paul cried, pulling out the plain silver band with trembling hands. For half a second John panicked that the ring might not fit on his thick dimpled fingers, but obviously Paul had measured his finger while he slept, and made sure the ring was generous. It fit perfectly. 

"It's quite easily adjustable too," Paul commented nonchalantly, knowing that John too would be thinking of their _plans_.

"It's perfect," John said simply, kissing Paul again. When Paul got up, he heaved John to his feet too without being asked - the two were so in sync. Both felt like they were on cloud nine, wandering back to the villa like they'd won the lottery, or struck oil in their backyard. 

They were halfway home when John laughed to himself, and Paul raised his eyebrows at him. "What's tickled you?" 

"Nothing. Just thinking about telling Mimi," Paul giggled too and then stopped, groaning. 

"What's up?" 

"I'm going to have to tell _my Dad,_ " Paul whined, and John laughed harder. Soon they were clutching each other, shaking with delight beneath the stars. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is SO SOFT I know, but life is hard right now and we could all use some softness. <3
> 
> Your comments warm my heart, please let me know what you think. x


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: There's some slightly new kinks touched on here, I hope you like <3 Plus, I made the age gap quite a bit wider between Paul and Mike in this story. Mike is 18, while Paul is 26.

Usually returning from a holiday is a pretty glum time, when home suddenly feels very cold, dreary and dark. Not so on this occasion - both Paul and John felt like they were walking on air. Even on the uncomfortable plane ride home, they only had to glance at the shining silver ring gleaming on John's plump hand to make themselves smile. 

Paul had returned to the office basically singing to himself, taking a holiday snap with him for his desk. It sat next to an old photo of him at 18, clutched to the side of a leather jacket wearing rakish John, smirking at the camera. The difference between that image and the newer one, taken by a kind passerby, showing he and John leaning together on a sea wall was so stark he'd caught some of his colleagues staring. Gaping even. 

He loved to look at the comparison though, the way John had swelled and sagged and softened, while the love between them was constant. He found that if he had a tight deadline, he had to move the photos out of his line of sight, they were too distracting. He'd find himself thinking about how John's current thighs were twice the width they used to be and have to take a swig of cold water. Maybe think about one of his great Auntie's in the shower. 

He arrived home most days to a stuffed John, who had been greedy before but had been utterly spoiled by their holiday, and now truly just ate what he wanted, when he wanted. 

One evening he got back to find John sprawled out on the sofa, lazily watching telly. His 5XL shirt was stretched across his belly, the hem just barely grazing the lowest point on the curve, close to being outgrown. He had to lie a particular way, half on his side, or he felt too heavy and pinned down. Either way, he sank into the divot he'd created on their sofa, the cushions permanently deflating and moulding themselves to his shape. 

John smiled up at him when he entered their living room, but didn't move, waiting for Paul to come to him. Which he did dutifully, getting on his knees and leaning in for an open mouthed kiss. 

"Miss me?" Paul asked cheekily, pulling away but only by a few inches.

"Oh yeah," John grinned back, shifting a little on the sofa, making it creak. "But I always miss you, don't I?"

Paul smiled at that, warmed, despite the light tone, and reached out to cup some of John's soft side in one hand. The larger man shuffled a bit again, trying to get comfy. 

"You okay?" Paul enquired gently, stroking that bulging hip. "How do you feel?" 

John laughed, and patted his own tummy. "Ugh, _fat_ ," he said with a slight groan but still a smile. Unconsciously fondling his own belly, feeling that soft pleasure within him beat against him like waves.

Paul felt his own cheeks heat at that, before leaning down to press a soft kiss to the crest of John's belly. "Well, you look lovely."

"Flattery," John retorted, reaching out to take Paul's hand, feeling that cold ring press between them. "It'll get you everywhere." 

"Good," Paul quipped, watching John play with his gut one handed, his own mouth dry. "What do you fancy for dinner?"

~ 

John fancied lasagne in the end, just from a packet. Paul warmed up three of them, just in case, and John ended up devouring all three. His fork to mouth action was just so smooth and so efficient now. John ate with his eyes closed, concentrating on the feelings - the delight on his taste buds, and the gentle stretch of the filling of his belly. 

"Mmm," John moaned around his fork, pretty much licking it clean. Paul just watched, feeling his skin heat. 

When John had finally finished, he sat back with a quiet gasp, pulling down his sweatpants a little, letting the elasticated waist fall below his belly. It had been leaving a biting red mark where it had been pressed before. Paul wanted to lick along it. He swallowed. 

"I picked up some dessert. Shall we take it upstairs?" 

John nodded eagerly, already making grabby hands at Paul, who moved to pull him up and help him lumber to their bedroom.

He lay down on their bed heavily, spreading his limbs like a starfish. With his trousers rolling down and his shirt riding up, a good few inches of pale flesh were visible, wobbling like blancmange. 

Paul placed his plastic bag on their bedside table, pulling out a ten inch treacle tart and a whole can of squirty cream. John's eyes widened in anticipation, and he wet his lips without even thinking about it. 

"Looks good," he murmured, not taking his eyes off the shiny, sticky pastry.

Paul cut off a huge slice, and lifted it to John's lips, smiling at the way he opened his mouth automatically, gobbling it down almost ridiculously fast. "More," John murmured, eyes closed in bliss and Paul laughed. 

"So impatient," he muttered, grinning, but lifted another slice. 

Before long the whole tart was gone, all eight slices. John groaned, rubbing at his belly lightly, but opened his eyes and looked to his side, eyes finding the whipped topping can.

"You forgot to put any cream on them," he commented lightly. Paul was about to apologise and say something about _next time_ when John picked up the can and squirted some cream straight into his mouth. Paul bit back a moan at the sight, as John pulled the bottle away and swallowed that dollop loudly. 

"You greedy pig," Paul said, choked, but smirking when John just grinned cheekily in response, screwing up his eyes and showing his teeth. He sat up properly, swinging his legs over John, straddling him. He plucked the can out of his hand. "So, you want cream?"

He placed the nozzle back in John's mouth, and squeezed. John gasped, grabbing at the bedsheets in pleasure, as he attempted to swallow the stream of fluffy sweetness. He wasn't quite fast enough, and it overflowed from his mouth a little, smearing on his lips and chins. Still, he ate most of it, greedily suckling until the can sputtered and ran out. Paul was breathing heavily, like he'd just run a marathon, and let it drop and roll across their bedroom floor. 

John groaned, his belly well and truly distended then. It felt packed tight, churning, pressing down on him like a bowling ball. Paul moved immediately to soothe him, massaging that belly gently, pressing on sore spots, relieving some of that aching. 

"Oh my God," John whispered between moans, wrecked. He belched a few times too, too far gone to even apologise. Paul kept kneading at his stomach, pushing lower and lower, and John accidentally let out a rumbling fart. John turned strawberry red in his mortification, throwing his hands over his face. 

"Oh _fuck,_ urp, sorry," he whined, and Paul burst out laughing. 

"Stop laughing at me!" John demanded petulantly, lowering the hands he was hiding behind slightly.

"I'm not laughing at you!" Paul explained. "You just make me laugh. It's a totally natural thing - what are you apologising for?" 

John looked at him like he was certifiable, but lowered his hands completely. "Yeah, it's a natural thing, but it's not a sexy thing." 

Paul just raised his eyebrows, as if to say _hmmm, well..._ And John gaped, blinking. 

"How did I not find this side of you for so long?" John wondered aloud, grinning now too. "I thought you were normal." 

"Hey!" Paul cried, mock-offended, poking at John's belly pointedly. John reached up, undeterred, and patted his partner on the head. 

"My kinky little weirdo," he said indulgently, and Paul leant down to kiss at his sugary cheek and neck. 

"Have some respect, that weirdo is your fiancé," he whispered, gravelly, kisses becoming more and more heated.

"Oh, so he is," John sighed, turning his head to return the kiss. 

~ 

It was a few days later when Paul proposed the idea of another trip to Liverpool, this time to see Paul's Dad and his 18 year old brother, who still lived at home. Paul hadn't seen them in too long, they'd been away the last time they'd visited Mimi, and it'd be the ideal opportunity to tell them about the engagement. Mimi herself was away at the moment, visiting a sister, but John had no qualms about telling her about his upcoming nuptials over the phone...just as soon as he worked up the courage. Paul wanted to tell his own Dad in person.

John sighed, shifting in Paul's arms to look at him, while they lay entwined on the sofa. "But your Dad has literally never liked me." 

"A. Maybe if you'd smashed less windows/avoided smoking like a chimney/not seduced his innocent son away to so many late night parties, he'd have liked you more," Paul teased. "B. He's okay with you now. And C. This is important to me…" He trailed off, plaintive, and John deflated, but argued back half-heartedly. 

"Firstly, you fell in love with me because I was a suave bad boy-"

"John you were blind as a bat, you kept walking into walls-" 

"Secondly, he hasn't seen me since I...you know, chubbed up. He's going to think I've lost my mind. He's going to think _you've_ lost your mind," John continued, ignoring Paul's interruption. 

Paul grabbed John's hand, playing with it. "He won't. He might be a little...surprised. But he knows I love you. Please, John?" He looked up at him, wide eyed and pleading, and John melted like butter left out of the fridge. 

"Yeah, okay," he agreed, kissing Paul's pleased smile, and cuddling back up with him. 

Even though John had laughed off Paul's suggestion that they call ahead and warn Mimi about John's changed appearance a few months ago, Paul thought it would probably be a good idea to do it for his own family. Knowing that his Dad in particular didn't have much of a brain-mouth filter, and the last thing he wanted to was the resurrection of any bad blood between his Dad and John when they'd lived in relative peace for years. 

Jim was happy to hear from him, and happier still when he asked if they could come stay. Paul was on speaker, and could hear that his brother was in the room too. 

"Dad..so I wondered if we could ask a favour? When we come could you maybe get the actual spare dining room chairs out the garage? Just John has put on a few and I'm not sure he and those fold out chairs would be a good combination." 

There was a moment of silence, before Jim cleared his throat. "Sure, son. That'd be fine." Paul said his goodbyes after that, feeling the weight of their unanswered questions in that quiet. But still, at least now his Dad wouldn't open the door to John and say " _Jesus Christ_ " before saying "Hello."

~ 

John was fidgeting awkwardly on the doorstep when they did rock up late in the evening a week later, unaware of Paul's phone call. Paul was gripping John's hand firmly, stroking his thumb along the back of it soothingly. 

When Jim opened the door and saw them, he couldn't stop his eyes from widening. Whatever he'd been envisioning, it hadn't been this, every part of John was big and soft and swollen, he made Paul seem tiny by comparison. The man was hardly recognisable. 

But he managed to recover his wits to smile and invite them in. Mike's reaction was even more marked, again, he avoided saying anything, but his jaw dropped as he took in John's bloated form. John's own cheeks were glowing pink, but he made no comment, just holding Paul's hands until he was sure they'd hear bone creak. Mike found Paul’s eyes over John’s shoulder, and mouthed _a few?!_ while Paul made slashing motions against his own throat. John was asking Jim about the weather, of all things, oblivious.

They did manage to settle into a normal-ish small talk before they made their way up to bed, with promises of a proper catch up over dinner tomorrow.

It was strange for both of them, to be sat on Paul's old bed again, with its musical note bedspread. For one, it was a small double, which felt miniscule when compared to their King at home. It creaked dangerously when John sat down, and he winced. Automatically Paul moved to slot their suitcases under the bed to support the slats, not wanting a repeat of the holiday incident when it was his Dad he’d have to explain it too. 

While he was on his hands and knees under there, he huffed a laugh. And came up with something dark and crumpled clutched in his hand. 

"What's that?" John asked, curious, leaning forward. He almost gasped when Paul unfurled it. 

It was an old black band tee John'd worn at college. It had been baggy back then, and something Paul had stolen because of it's comfort, hence why it was now screwed up in Paul's room. He really had loved it, back in the day. Before he had the actual man himself in his bed every night.

"Oh John, try it on," Paul pleaded, thrusting it out at him.

"Are you insane?" John asked, laughing. "It'll barely cover- oh." 

Paul was biting his lip, breath caught, and John sighed. "This is how much I love you," he quipped, pulling off his own shirt and grabbing for the old one. He inspected the label, Large. Damn. 

Even getting it over his head was a struggle, it felt tight on his neck in a way it never had been. And it required a great deal of pulling and wriggling to get it to roll down at all, which left John huffing and puffing. Eventually it was pulled down as low as it would go without tearing. Paul gazed at John, transfixed, his hands unconsciously squeezing his old duvet.

"John, look at yourself," so he did, and the sight made his own breath catch. Fucking hell. The shirt was pulled so tight it was creased every which way, clinging to him like a second skin, hiding nothing. Every lump and bump was visible. It covered his tits and the very top of his stomach, but as soon as his belly widened and rounded it fell out of the bottom. Even his deep oval of a navel was a good six inches lower than the hem of the top, which was slowly rolling up. 

Thinking about the way he used to look in the shirt vs the way he looked now made his body tingle all over. His huge overhanging gut sagged off of him - this whole new thing, and every part of his body shape and size had changed. He'd eaten himself into this whole new man, and destroyed his old figure forever. There was no going back. His knees felt weak, and he was glad when Paul snuck up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist, playing with his belly.

"You're such a fatass," Paul whispered, uttering the word _fatass_ the way someone else might say _angel_. "You look divine," he gushed, breathy, and the tingles all over John's body intensified. He pushed back, grinding his big ass against the hardness pressed up against him, thrilling in the way Paul groaned and whispered sweet nothings into his soft hair.

That night they had careful, quiet sex in Paul's teenage bed, for old time's sake. John kept the shirt on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always make me so happy <3 I have the second part of their visit planned, just need to find the time to finish it. So go on, motivate me :p xxx


	6. Chapter 6

Waking up in John's arms was always lovely. Especially recently, now John was like a giant hot water bottle - so soft and warm. Paul's extremities were always cold, and it was pretty common for him to shove his frigid fingers into John's rolly sides, laughing at John's sleepy exclamation of "Jesus _fuck_."

It was especially nice to wake smushed against John in his tiny childhood bed. For a brief moment he imagined a scenario where his 16 year old self, lying in this same spot and yearning for John, could have seen this future. The thought made him smile and hug John a little closer. 

"I'm up, I'm up," John mumbled, eyes closed, mistaking Paul's affectionate squeeze for a wake up call. Paul pressed a kiss on John's rosy cheek.

"You can sleep on a little longer," he whispered, and his partner was already unconscious again, open mouthed. 

They eventually did get up an hour or so later, not wanting to be too late when they were house guests. As they dressed, Paul watched John out of the corner of his eye. It hadn't been that long ago that they'd bought John the clothes he was wearing, and yet he had to wriggle into them, breathing in and tugging to get the jean button closed over his tummy. The bottom half of his thick belly was tucked in his trousers, with the upper half forming a muffin top. 

He wasn't indecent or anything once dressed, but his clothes were clearly getting tight again.

They had a fairly restful day at Paul's dad's - with Paul helping with DIY and other tasks while John just wandered about making polite conversation. Both Jim and Mike still kept 'subtly' ogling John when they thought he couldn't see, but they'd yet to mention it. There was clearly an elephant in the room - but it was ignorable for now. 

By the time they sat down for dinner Paul was relieved to find his warning had been heeded, and John wasn't being made to park his behind on a dodgy wooden fold out chair. He could already imagine the snapping sound it would make when the springs gave way. 

They were having salmon and roast veg for tea - simple but homely fare. Jim was no chef, never had been, but it was nice enough. The only downside was that it was one piece of salmon and a small pile of vegetables. A tiny amount of food compared to what John was used to consuming. He ate his own share incredibly quickly, and without even thinking about it, Paul cut off a piece of his own fish and lifted his fork to John's mouth wordlessly.

John had just opened his mouth and began chewing said fish when he realised that Jim and Mike were staring at the extraordinarily _natural_ way that Paul had just fed him. Paul noticed too, and glanced back down at his plate, cheeks pink. 

Jim cleared his throat, deciding then and there _not to ask_. "So, anything new with you two?" 

Paul swallowed a piece of salmon that was far too big with a gulp, reaching out for his drink. 

"I've been working on some new commissions.." John said, unsure and filling the silence. Paul's family hmmm'd at that politely, but Jim was watching Paul now, suspicious. 

"And you, Paul?" 

John caught Paul's gaze and raised his brows, silently communicating _well_ , _you wanted to do this._

"Actually Dad…" Paul began, and Jim sat up to attention, some sixth sense telling him this was important. Had Paul lost his job or something? Did he need money? 

"When we were on holiday I asked...you see, I really wanted to...basically we're…" Paul tried, scrabbling for the right words, and John sighed, placing his left hand flat on the table, for all to see. 

"We're getting married," John announced, taking pity on him. All Paul's breath left him in a whoosh, but he booped John's foot with his own gratefully. 

"Yeah. That." He said, smiling at John, who returned it. 

Jim and Mike's jaws dropped in sync, in a way that was almost comical. Whatever they'd been expecting, it wasn't that. But the gleaming band on John's thick finger was suddenly clear as day, and both men sported small secret smiles. 

"Married?" Jim croaked, though it was rhetorical. Paul nodded firmly, and gripped John's hand in his own, biting his lip but standing his ground. 

Paul shifted a little, and so did John. But then again, they always did that. When one moved, the other followed, like magnets. It was a rhythm they'd fallen into years ago, and one that Jim wasn't blind or stubborn enough to deny. There was a tiny part of him still back there now, trying to keep his son away from this Lennon lad, with his cigarettes and his parties and his trouble. 

Yet when he looked at them now, John, with his body soft, edges rounded off, both physically and metaphorically, while Paul clung to him, so happy….

"Congratulations," Jim said gruffly, but not without feeling. And that feeling only spread through his chest painfully when Paul's grin widened, breaking like the sun through clouds. 

"Thanks Dad," he said gratefully. That pulled Mike out of his shocked reverie too. 

"Yeah, congrats you guys," he said, genuinely meaning it. Trying to shake off some of his surprise.

“So, when’s the big day?” Jim asked, genuinely interested, trying to swallow back the wave of emotion that had just rushed over him. 

Paul and John exchanged a glance, having not planned that far ahead. “Uh, not sure,” Paul said and his Dad actually cracked a smile at that. They’d not planned anything, of course, how typically them. 

“Soonish,” John piped up. “I don’t want to wait too long.” Paul laughed brightly, and the sound went straight through Jim’s heart and made his eyes cloud again. 

“I kept you waiting long enough, right?” Paul said, grinning, while John just smirked, taking another sip of his drink with his free hand. He made no move to extract the other. 

“Something like that, yeah.”

The rest of the evening was a blend of happy chatter and reminiscing about family weddings past. "You don't want dinner too late, it makes the day drag!" "Do you remember your cousin having those fireworks? So tacky." "The ceremony should be under an hour, otherwise someone always falls asleep." 

A while later Paul and his Dad were working on the washing up together, while John watched TV in the living room with Mike. They were working in companionable silence, which was usual for them. So Paul almost dropped the plate he was scrubbing when Jim spoke. 

"You two really are okay then?" He asked, not looking up, continuing to dry and stack.

"Yeah, we're fine. Great, even," Paul said, utterly honest. 

"And...John's okay?" For a moment Paul was confused, why single out John? He looked up at his Dad, who sighed, put upon. 

"You know, because he's got quite..." Jim waved his hands in front of his stomach, making the universal gesture for fat. Oh. Paul sighed then too, glad that John was out of the room

"He's fine Dad," Paul said calmly, while rubbing too hard at a spot of dirt on the crockery. 

"So - are you helping him to diet?" Jim asked - not nastily, just curious. But still, it set Paul's teeth on edge. 

"No. Why would I be?" he replied blandly, feigning disinterest. Jim’s eyes widened slightly, and he finally paused in his drying.

"But surely he _is_ trying to lose-" 

"No. He's not," Paul cut across him, sharp. He tried to relax a bit then, and just tell the truth. Or part of it, his Father most definitely didn't want the _whole_ truth. "He likes it. I like it. We love each other, and we're happy. That's it."

Paul's tone, though placid, rang with a finality that left little room for argument. Jim floundered for a moment, his mind flicking back to John eating from Paul's fork at dinner...He shook his head, and that line of thinking away. At the end of the day it was none of his business.

"Okay. Well, then I'm happy for you son," he said genuinely, clapping a half-smiling Paul on the shoulder. 

~ 

That night Paul and John lay curled together in that tiny bed again, trying to get to sleep. Trying being the operative word, John kept tossing and turning, in obvious discomfort. Though, when questioned, insisted everything was fine and that he just wanted to sleep. 

John shuffled once again, flipping over with a huff, and Paul snapped. 

"Look, clearly something is bothering you. Just tell me what it is so I can help?" 

The bigger man stilled and turned to Paul to reply. "I'm telling you, everything's okay." 

Paul just stared him down, disapproving. Then John's body decided to answer for him. A low grumbling growl could be heard from John's stomach, and he flushed red, wrapping one arm around his soft middle. 

"You're hungry," Paul gasped. It hadn't even crossed his mind, that what John ate tonight had barely skimmed the surface of his usual evening meal. If he'd thought about it at all, it had been well and truly pushed from his mind by the conversation with his Dad. "Oh John love, why didn't you just say?" He asked softly. 

John frowned, mulish. "Well, we did have dinner…" 

Paul sat up properly, grabbing for his phone. " _You_ didn't have enough dinner. That's the bottom line." He tapped the little Internet icon immediately, opening a website that had quickly become one of his most visited. John sat up too, clicking on the bedside lamp. 

"Dominoes? Paul, no, you'll wake everyone up, it's after midnight…" John whispered. But the younger man flashed him his phone, showing the message he'd typed in the box marked Message For Your Driver. 

_Pls don't ring doorbell or knock on door - just call this number. Thank u :)_

"And, order placed," Paul announced with a last triumphant click, placing his phone on his bedside table. John was gaping at him slightly, but a smile was beginning to pull at the edges of his mouth. 

"You're unbelievable." 

"And you're _hungry_ ," Paul replied, reaching out to fondle John's bare belly, dressed only in stretchy pyjama pants as they both were. His gut felt so soft and wobbly, warm beneath his fingers. It was lovely - but wrong. John was uncomfortable, he should be in bed full and sated, not empty like this.

John shuddered a little at the touch, his belly sensitive, but he leant into it too, sliding forward to press his mouth to Paul's. "Thank you," he muttered into the kiss, and Paul began running his hands up and down those blubbery sides. They made out lazily until Paul's phone vibrated and he sat up with a start, answering it in hushed tones and pulling on a stripey dressing gown.

John waited in bed while Paul snook downstairs, aware in a whole new way just how squeaky the staircase was. It reminded him of sneaking in from nights out with John as a teen, and the contrast between those times and this one made him tremble with suppressed laughter. 

After he'd paid the poor confused driver he took the pizza back upstairs, and grinned at the look of relief that washed over John's face at the sight of two pizza boxes and a bottle of pop.

"Oh thank fuck," John breathed, ravenous now. 

Paul immediately situated himself back on bed too. Propping John up on multiple pillows and cushions, so he was reclined but not lying down. He waited impatiently, eyes watchful, and Paul opened the first box. 

"Feed me, please," John whispered, and the plea went straight to Paul's groin. Paul seized the first slice, folding it into John's waiting mouth. The second the pizza touched his tongue John moaned in quiet ecstasy, his mouth open for the second piece mere seconds later. 

He gobbled the first pizza in about ten minutes, until nothing remained in the box but greasy stains. Paul used the interlude to help John take some desperate gulps of coke. John rubbed his belly a little, belching, not stuffed yet, but still trying to make space. "Paul, I need, _urp_ , more."

Paul didn't need telling twice, flipping open the second box. The second pizza was harder for John, he ate more lazily this time, slowly chewing, breathing heavily. Pizza grease and tomato smeared around his mouth and little, and the top of his belly seemed to harden and round beneath his and Paul's hands. Paul took over a little then, straddling John's legs, feeding him and rubbing his belly simultaneously, making sure his fiancé had to do as little as possible. 

They were on to the last piece when the door to Paul's room flew open. 

"Hey, are you guys having a _pizza_? I thought I could smell-"

Mike froze, his whispered exclamation halted mid-sentence. He had, for his part, once watched a sketchy TLC documentary about "feeders" - but he kind of thought they were made up, like unicorns. He never thought he'd have such a personal encounter. His eye twitched. 

Paul and John were stock still too, but slowly John raised his hands to cover his burning face. The last pizza slice hung limp in Paul's hand.

"Oh my God, Mike…" Paul choked out. 

Mike groaned. "Don't suppose you have any idea how I could go back in time and unsee this, right?" He said, at least managing to sound somewhat wry. 

"'Fraid not," John grunted, from under his hands. Mike just nodded, mostly to himself. 

"Right. Erm. Okay. This never happened. We never bring it up again. And maybe one day I'll have a head injury bad enough that I can't recall it," he commanded, already backing out of the room. Before he shut the door he popped his head back round one final time. 

"Uh, you guys have fun." 

There was at least a full minute of silence when he left, then both John and Paul started shaking with hysterical laughter, muffled by their hands.

"Oh my fucking God," John cried, still blushing post box red but almost crying with mirth. Paul was doing the same, close to biting his lip clean through. When they'd eventually laughed themselves silly John looked at the pizza still clutched in Paul's hand and raised his eyebrows.

"So, are you gonna finish the job?"

Paul shook his head in disbelief, but shoved the pizza in John's mouth, following it up with a kiss. John moaned as he finally finished his (second) meal, the stretched fullness of his belly exquisite. Paul moved to press kisses all over John's face, including the squishy roll that hung beneath it, perfect for licking and nibbling. He alternated between John's chins and lips, kissing while both his hands went to his packed belly, massaging.

The hushed sounds John let out were indecent, his breath hot and his face sticky with sweat. When Paul pressed down particularly hard on one spot, John burped uncontrollably into a kiss, and tried to pull away, horrified. "'M sorry," he said, muffled by the kisses that Paul was still giving him.

"Don't apologise," Paul breathed lowly, still sucking at patches of John's face and neck. "'S so hot, you're _so hot_." He pushed his fingers deep into John's cavernous belly button, making him belch again. John rode it this time, letting it meld with a moan, as Paul nibbled at the sensitive skin at his chubby throat.

Eventually Paul licked his own hand and reached down to grip at John's painfully hard dick, pumping him gently. He shimmied off his trousers, in order to rub his own cock against John's squashy stomach.

"You're so _full_ ," Paul shuddered, feeling John everywhere, in every way. Hot and heavy and rounded where he had been empty. 

"You, _ah_ , you made me like this. You did this to me. You made me this fat," John panted, shaking with desire. 

"We did it," Paul moaned, "I feed you, but you were already a slobby little piggy," the humiliating words utterly at odds with the adoration dripping from his voice. John gripped Paul's upper arms so hard with lust upon hearing them he'd be shocked if he hadn't left marks. Had they been in their own house he probably would have screamed. As it was, he came all over Paul's hand, falling apart beneath him. That sight pushed Paul over the edge too, and he finished with a quiet cry, painting John's lower belly with his seed.

They lay together panting in the aftermath, blissed out. Their sweat was cool and sticky by the time Paul found his voice again. 

"Have I told you that I love you?" He whispered, kissing John's still slightly shaking shoulder.

"You've mentioned it once or twice, yeah," John quipped, but he leaned in close, close enough to her Paul's slowing heartbeat. "Have I told you that I love you too?"

Paul smiled, and John felt it more than saw it. "You might have done. But I still like to hear it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoyed this! Please let me know, your comments always make my day! And with continued lockdown, my days really need making, ha.
> 
> The next chapter will probably feature George and Ringo...x


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!!! Sorry, real life has crazy for a while there, but we're locked down again so I suddenly have a lot more free time. I really hope you all enjoy it. <3

It's a few weeks later when they invite their old friends round for dinner, ostensibly to wedding plan. But truthfully they just haven't seen them for over a year, and all four were just desperate to catch up. A decade or so ago the four of them could often be seen stumbling around the city on a Saturday night, tearing up the town. 

Of course, they eventually put away childish things (mostly) and grew up, moving to different places across the country. But they stayed in touch and stayed close, at least via phone. Because they’d facetimed in the last 12 months, George and Ringo had...some idea about John’s new appearance, but still, neither were fully prepared for the reality. 

They seemed to slow blink in sync when the door was opened for them, their greetings trailing off as they tried desperately to not let their eyes widen. John was trying to smirk nonchalantly, having noticed their reaction, but two high spots of colour had appeared on his plump cheeks, and his welcoming words were stringing together just a touch too fast. 

It was Paul who swooped in to save the day, taking over the welcome hugs with an easy geniality, and providing a good enough distraction to bring them inside.

They ordered an Indian takeaway, and sat together on John and Paul’s plush sofas while waiting for it to be delivered. After some prodding and needling from their friends John eventually stuck out his hand, showing off the ring. 

"Good job you didn't wear that in the pool - you'd have sunk straight to the bottom," Ringo commented dryly, over the rim of his beer bottle. 

George peered at the ring too, before declaring. "Our Paul always did spoil you," in a voice that you had to be familiar with to hear the happiness in it. Smiles were playing around both of their mouths though, excited at the prospect of the wedding that they'd all idly imagined over the years. 

When the food arrived it was dropped off in three white carrier bags, a fact George raised his eyebrows at wordlessly when he caught sight of it. As they plated up their food, it was hard to miss the fact that John had at least twice as much as everyone else. Two curries to choose from - two breads - even two boxes of rice. 

For Paul, it was a fact hardly worth noting, he was just used to indulging John now - it barely registered in his mind anymore. For George and Ringo, well, it was doing a good job of answering their unspoken questions. 

They didn't eat at the dining table, instead sprawling in the living room, a movie on TV and a crate of beers on the floor. Paul, George and Ringo each had a chair or a stool - while John reclined himself on the sofa, his heaped plate balanced neatly on the crest of his round belly. 

The atmosphere was warm and jovial as they ate and reminisced - but John's additions became fewer and fewer as he got more absorbed in the task of eating. He ate quickly, methodically, gobbling down heaped forkfuls without a second thought. 

The issue was that the more full he became, the tighter his stomach felt. The combination of spicy food and bubbly alcohol made him almost impossibly bloated, and the urge to throw his head back and moan was overwhelming. 

Normally he would have just done it, but with company...he couldn't. So he locked his jaw tight and squirmed in discomfort instead, hoping that it wasn't written all over his slightly flushed face. 

Everyone else carried on chatting, but Paul had started to glance at John's pained expression, sympathy welling up in his own eyes. He stood, disguising his movement as 'grabbing another drink' but did also manage to subtly brush his hand over John's swollen tummy, trying to comfort. 

Unfortunately, John's belly was so sensitive that the unexpected touch made him jerk in surprise, briefly unlocking his teeth. He clapped a hand over his mouth in an attempt to muffle the ensuing belch, but his face burned red as he didn't quite succeed. 

George and Ringo were a little shocked, but didn't say anything. Normally they would have ribbed him, but there was clearly some silent conversation going on between the couple that they didn't want to wade into. Still, George struggled to stifle his snort of amusement when he saw that John was still taking yet another bite of food. 

Later, when it was time for them to leave, John was just about laying on the furniture - he didn't even try to stand to see them out, just lazily waving goodbye with a smile that was half genuine, half a grimace because of his still cramping gut. 

Instead it was Paul who walked them to the door, ever the gracious host. After they'd hugged goodbye on the porch Paul caught sight of George's obvious smirk, and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What?"

"See, I wouldn't ever have guessed you had a fat fetish, Paul. Just shows that you never can tell about these things." 

Ringo made a sound like he was choking on his own spit, and Paul's mouth flapped wordlessly, while he blushed like a teenager. "I-I don't. I mean-" 

George raised his eyebrows and Paul relented with a sigh, crossing his arms. "Well, yeah. Maybe." 

Ringo choked again. 

Smiling properly now, George raised his hands innocently. "Hey, I never said it was bad - you guys clearly have _your own thing_ going on, and I'm happy for you."

Paul smiled at that, suddenly desperate to get back inside and enjoy that same _thing_. Instead, he found himself looking at Ringo, who was still gaping. 

"Well, a lot of things are making more sense now," he said eventually, sheepishly. "But yeah - happy for you. And if we're not joint best men our friendship is over." 

He grinned at the end, undercutting his own teasing, and smiled harder when Paul pulled them both in for one last grateful hug. 

Paul felt all warm and fuzzy as he walked back through the house, stopping in the doorway of the living room to take in the sight of his fiancé, beached on the sofa as he was. In the last few minutes John had rolled down his trousers, letting them sit beneath his belly instead of across it. A hot red mark had been bitten into it by the waistband, and was visible now that so much of his pale gut was on show between his low trousers and hitched up shirt. 

His belly was clearly the biggest part of him, mounding up and sagging down with the consistency of bread dough, white and soft. Spidery stretch marks decorated the sides and bottom, and the sore mark from his waistband stretched across it like an equator, sitting above his deep navel. 

But Paul couldn't help but notice how thick John's thighs looked, when he laid like that. They were wide and solid, rubbing together even while one actually hung over the edge of the sofa a little, not majorly, but he obviously couldn't comfortably fit anymore. 

John let out a little groan, reaching down with a chubby hand to rub at his belly, having not noticed Paul's return. Laying on the settee and glancing down like that, made the roll beneath his face incredibly prominent, neck vanishing, swallowed by two chins. 

His round face was still flushed, cheeks wide and red, a touch of sweat on his forehead, dampening his hair. 

"Poor love," Paul said, smiling when John glanced up and whined, back arching needily as he silently begged his boyfriend to come rub his belly already. Paul didn't need to be prompted, he knelt by the sofa and began to massage that mound from top to bottom, relishing in the moans that John let out, and the way that one of his hands fisted their fluffy throw. 

"Poor full baby," Paul shushed again, still rubbing. John burped loudly now, too caught up in the moment to apologise. Why should he apologise anyway? He knew by now that he didn't have to. That he didn't have to hide anything anymore. 

"Don't you know what you do to me?" Paul continued, voice soft and husky. "How hard it was to carry on talking, when all I wanted to do was touch you? How hard it was to watch you, already full, shoving more and more into that pretty mouth of yours? So greedy." 

Moaning, John writhed in place, pushing himself flush into Paul's hands. "I was just, _urp_ , hungry," he sighed. 

"You're always hungry," Paul commented lovingly, leaning down to press a kiss to that gurgling tummy. 

"Well, I am a pig," John said faux-nonchalantly, grinning at the way the words physically lanced through Paul, white hot. 

"Yes you are," Paul gasped, breath knocked out of him. He cleared his throat, and stood on trembling legs, trying to regain his composure. "And is piggy finished, or can you manage more?" 

John bit his lip, and glanced up at his fiancé from beneath his lashes. When he spoke, it was as much a guilty admission as it was a request. "More." 

~ 

Paul came back from the fridge with half a cheesecake - it was thick and gleaming, a layer of biscuit, of soft white filling, and topped with white chocolate ganache. John eyed it with both eagerness and trepidation, still sprawled out.

"Do you know how many calories are in just this segment?" Paul asked casually, still standing. John shook his head no. "Over 3000. That's more than a normal person should have in a day." 

That knowledge made John's heart pound, and he made to sit up and grab at the cake. But Paul pulled it away. 

"No. Not like that. On all fours." 

John shuddered, but moved, ungainly as he was, to be on his hands and knees on the sofa. Only then did Paul place the plate down, below his face. Once he had, he fisted his hand gently in John's lovely auburn hair, slowly pushing his face to the plate. 

The thrilling game they were playing was almost too much for the two of them - they both felt like they were sat inches away from an open fire, any minute now they'd combust. 

It was exquisite. 

John began to devour the cheesecake, batter smearing over his cheeks and chins. He moaned and panted as he did, doubly so when he felt Paul's hand clench in his hair, finding the sight so dizzyingly erotic it made him lightheaded. 

Paul kept one hand directing John's head, while the other began to explore his plush sides, rolling that lovely warm flab in his grip. 

"Oh my God, you're perfect. So perfect," he gasped over the top of the soft wet sounds of John consuming the pudding. When it was all gone, but for a few smudges and crumbs, John rolled back over with a groan, landing heavily on his back. Paul straddled him, low on his legs, and just stared. 

John looked full, and sated. His face was covered in dessert - it was even in his hair, clumping bits of it together. The roundness of his face rendered it cherubic, and his expression was nearing blissed out. 

Paul reached out to caress one sticky fat cheek. "You are so _beautiful_ ," he sighed, absolutely genuine, utterly bowled over. 

His fiancé rolled his eyes, but grinned all the same. "Yeah, yeah. Charmer." 

"I mean it," Paul said, leaning down for a sickly sweet kiss. Mmm. Vanilla. 

Something changed in John's expression then, teasing and cheekiness gone. His expression was pure and open. When he smiled, it was shy and delighted. "I know you do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and for all your lovely comments thus far. (Pls leave more, I'm needy ;-;) 
> 
> Let me know if there's anything you'd like to see going forward - I read/appreciate/love all your thoughts <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: There's a bit of fatphobic language in this, which is of course roundly condemned by both the narrative and the author. xxx

It started on a bright Autumn afternoon. John was in their little garden, reclining on a soft cushioned bench, reading a dog-eared book and soaking up the last of the year's sunshine. High fences on each side kept his neighbours' gardens from view, but the illusion of privacy was just that, they could still very much be heard. 

"Did you hear the couple next door are getting married?" Came a feminine voice from his left. 

"I did. Can you believe it? The fat one must be loaded or something…" Her boyfriend replied, laughter in his tone. 

"Thank-you! I've no idea what's going on there, it's fucking bizarre. I mean, have you seen the state of him? I don't mind a bit of healthy chub but _that…_ " The woman's voice dripped with disgust. 

"They look like Laurel and Hardy. It's such a fucking joke," the man finished, fully laughing now, snide and cruel. 

John sat for a moment, frozen. His blood felt cool in his veins, like it had been replaced with ice water. Eventually, he folded down the corner of his page in his book, and walked back inside, ignoring the pounding in his ears. 

Now, at his size, nasty comments were part and parcel of life - he wasn’t blind, he saw the glances people threw at him in the street, heard the sniggers. Normally though, he could blank them, keep walking, because he felt secure, both within himself and in his relationship. He and Paul had created this warm and cozy world together, where ‘fuck everyone else’ wasn’t up for debate, it was simply taken as a given.

But, these were their neighbours. People who smiled at them when they took the bins out, who had cooed when they’d heard about the engagement. Their derision was a slap in the face, quite frankly. And it planted a seed of doubt in John’s mind that quickly took root. Was everyone else thinking the same? Was every person who had smiled at them, congratulated them, mocking them the second their back was turned? They’d always been fine doing their own thing, but the thought of being the neighbourhood freaks made John feel nauseous.

When Paul returned from work that evening, he found him sitting in their dark living room, flipping through but not reading a book. His brow furrowed at the sight immediately. 

“Are you okay?” Paul’s concern made something pang in John's chest, and for half a moment he considered telling him what he’d heard, how he felt. Then he pictured how sad Paul would be, he’d frown, and worry, and get all worked up about something he couldn’t control and couldn’t fix. It wasn’t fair to inflict that on him. Ignorance was bliss, after all. 

“I’m fine,” John smiled thinly. “Just got a bit of a headache, s’all.” 

Paul looked concerned at that, crossing the room quickly, before pressing the back of his hand to John’s forehead. “What can I do? You don’t feel feverish, but you should take some painkillers if you haven’t.”

The older man actually did smile at that, though it was still subdued. “I really am fine. Thank you though.”

Paul nodded, and leant down to press a soft kiss to John’s forehead, and chubby cheek. “Are you still alright for dinner?”

For a second John hesitated, hating the way that his normal excitement about dinner felt dulled, but his belly _was_ growling. “Yeah, I could eat.”

That made Paul smile, wide and genuine, and he dropped another kiss onto John’s face before departing for the kitchen. 

John did eat well that night - he always ate well. He was so used to eating huge quantities now, that he barely registered when he was eating enough food for a small family. He _needed_ it, he really did love the way food felt in his mouth, and the feeling of being full, being sated, that came with it. It was a habit that had become routine that now felt pretty unbreakable. Still, even as he ate, he barely glanced at Paul, barely paid attention to his own body, preferring instead to totally focus on his dinner, the way that felt within him. 

Normally by this point in a meal he’d be making eye contact with Paul, arching his back, licking cream off a spoon in a way that he hoped was erotic. But right now the thought of inviting Paul’s ministrations made him feel cold and numb. The way he had when he’d all but run from his own garden. Paul, for his part, was waiting for his usual cue, increasingly worried when it didn’t come. He figured John still wasn’t feeling great, so didn’t push the issue, but he couldn’t help but bite his lip, anxious. 

John finished his meal with a quiet belch, muffled in his hand, rubbing his belly absently with the other. He lumbered to his feet though, and lied in a way that was so offhanded, even Paul was fooled. “I’m still feeling under the weather - I’m going to head to bed I think.” 

Paul gaped as John just left the room, plates still piled high on their kitchen table. He was already gone by the time Paul’s mouth worked enough to say the words: “Yeah, alright. Night.”

After he’d cleaned the kitchen and stuck the dishwasher on, Paul too climbed the stairs to bed. John didn’t stir when he entered their bedroom, but he could tell by the lack of snoring that John wasn’t really sleeping, just lying on his side with his eyes closed. Still, he undressed quietly, and tried to slip into bed as unobtrusively as possible, flipping off the lamp. 

He lay, breathing in the dark for a few minutes, before whispering into the back of John’s soft hair. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

John reached blindly behind him before finding Paul’s hand, squeezing it, and holding it to his plush hip. “Yeah.”

If it sounded choked, Paul put it down to his tiredness. But if he’d looked at John’s face, the redness of his eyes might have clued him in that the real culprit was the tear-induced lump sitting in his throat.

~

The next morning Paul had a day off, and they had an appointment at a tailoring shop to talk about wedding suits. When John awoke he felt raw, and rough around the edges, but he knew he’d stretched the old ‘headache’ lie as far as he could take it, and just nodded along when Paul asked him if he still wanted to go. 

Paul, for his part, was tentatively hopeful that today would be different, hopes that were dashed by the passionless way that John returned his morning kiss. They didn’t really talk on the way to the shop, the atmosphere not frosty...just empty. It was like John had put on some kind of immovable porcelain mask, that Paul could neither see through or remove. 

Once at the tailors John was irritable immediately. The girl who was meant to be measuring them widened her eyes when she saw John, her cheeks lightly dusting with pink. Normally John would meet Paul’s eyes and smirk, but today, he clenched his jaw instead, staring at the ground. The shop girl didn’t say anything, just brought the two of them into a back room, and began to stretch her soft pink tape measure around John. 

She didn’t say his measurements aloud, just writing them in scratchy pencil on a pad of paper, that both of them could see. Had this happened a few days ago, Paul would be struggling to hold back a moan at the confirmation that John had a 60 inch waist, but today he found himself instead watching John watch the embarrassed looking girl, growing anger in his eyes. 

“Just say what you’re thinking, love,” John drawled eventually, as the girl fumbled with her tape around his arm. She blinked, confused. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what-” 

“You’re wondering how a guy like me, got a guy like that, right?” he spat, flushed now. He stepped away roughly, making the tape slip from her hand and flutter to the ground. 

“John!” Paul admonished, shocked, reaching down to collect it. 

“No, not at all!” the girl said, hurried, though she avoided his eyes, instead grabbing for her stuff back. John sneered, but his cheeks were quickly darkening with his own embarrassed blush. 

“Whatever you say,” he snapped, before turning on his heel and fleeing the shop. Paul stood for a moment, reeling.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked, before running from the shop as well, trying to catch up to John. It wasn’t a difficult task, John was a lot slower now, and Paul's long strides quickly brought them level.

"What the hell was all that?" Paul asked, stunned, but his stomach dropped when he saw John's face. His fiancé's jaw was trembling, eyes bright and shining.

"I just want to go home. We can talk there," John gritted out, heading straight for the car. His tone left little room for argument, and they drove home in horrid, fractious silence. 

The second they got home John slammed the car door and made his way upstairs, sitting on the edge of their bed, his head in his hands. Paul followed, panicked. 

"Right, do you want to tell me what on earth is going on?" 

When John replied, his head was still down, and the words were so hurried and weak that they ran together, tangled. "I don't think we should get married."

Whatever Paul had been expecting, it wasn't that. He recoiled as though struck, his heart pounding. "What? Why?" 

John looked up then, and his eyes were utterly miserable, his hair a mess where he'd tugged at it. "We just...don't fit."

Paul felt blindsided, like he'd been taken on a nice day trip to Blackpool tower and then pushed off the top. His answering plea was as bewildered as it was pained. "What do you mean?"

John laughed, but it was mirthless and scornful. "Look at us! Look at me. We look ridiculous. People are _laughing_ at us." 

"John, they're not-" 

"I overheard our neighbours. Talking about what a fucking joke we are, theorising about how I trapped you. So don't you dare tell me people aren't laughing, because they are." John's voice was dark and cold now, an underlying sadness threaded through it. Paul, for his part, felt both fury and hurt at that, but pushed it aside, to focus on John for now. 

"I'm sorry you heard that. But it doesn't mean anything, I-"

"It means something if everyone is thinking it. I'm not...unhappy about the way I look. In fact, I feel more like myself than I ever have, and I'm not even sure I could lose the weight, even if I wanted to," John sighed, dragging his hand across his face, then resting both of them atop his belly. "But I don't want to feel like I'm dragging you down. You should be with someone…good-looking. Someone who, when you say you're going to marry them, people will be pleased."

Paul took a deep shaky breath, running his own hands through his lengthening hair roughly. Each of John's words lay heavy on his chest like a stone, but his own resolve grew. He dropped to his knees in front of John, gently taking both of his plump hands in his own.

"John. I'm going to say something now and I want you to hear me," he said, voice both solemn and desperate. "I love you. _You_. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone or anything. I'd love you if you weighed 140lbs and I'd love you if you weighed 600. And at both those weights, just like right now, I'd think you were the most good looking man in the world."

John squeezed his hands at that, involuntarily.

"I understand what you're saying," Paul continued. "You're right, some people are bastards. But honestly I believe most people are happy for us. And even if they weren't, I would rather be mocked by the whole world, than loved by them and be without you."

John's lip wobbled, but he still didn't move, didn't say a word. Paul gripped his hands harder, desperate now. "John. If I woke up twice my weight tomorrow, and you woke up half yours, would you want to leave me?" 

It was a last ditch grasp at _something_ , but it made John sit up straighter, affronted. "Of course not."

Paul raised his eyebrows pointedly. "And how is your love any different than mine?" 

John just stared, cornered. Their eyes locked, and neither looked away. Eye contact had been so important to them in their early relationship, and right now, it was a lifeline that they both clung to. 

After a minute or so, John let out a long, shuddering breath, and a tear finally slipped down his face. "I'm sorry." 

Paul wiped it away softly, feeling his own start to brim. "It's okay. Don't be sorry." 

They pressed their foreheads together, until John tilted his head, leading Paul into a salty and desperate kiss. Paul placed his hands on John's thick sides, gripping hard, hard enough to leave little purple bruises on the pale flesh. Lingering panic making him want to cling and never let go. 

When they did eventually pull apart, both were breathing heavily, and their cheeks were still a little wet. John had calmed, and his engagement ring still sat firmly on his finger, but there was enough surprise and doubt in his eyes still to make Paul act. 

He pulled John to his feet, and put his hands to the collar of his huge button down. "May I?"

John's breath hitched, but he nodded his assent wordlessly, and let Paul carefully undress him. It wasn't long before he was stark naked in their bedroom, flesh hot beneath Paul's piercing gaze.

Instead of lying him on the bed, Paul gently moved him to be stood in front of the mirror, pretty much filling the whole frame. "Paul I-" 

Paul shushed him gently, dropping to his knees beside him. "I don't want you to look at yourself, I want you to look at me. Watch me." 

John was confused, but nodded, and gasped when Paul's warm hands encircled his ankles, massaging his feet. "I love these, your chubby feet. They carry you everywhere - and they're the cutest things." 

He slipped his hands up then, stroking soft calves and wobbling thick dimpled thighs. "And your legs. They're so beautiful. Your thighs drive me absolutely wild, you know? You'll just be pottering around the house and I'll catch a glimpse of them...and my brain just, short circuits." 

Paul began to kiss along his left thigh, stubble rough against that smooth skin, his mouth warm and wet. John started to tremble, a warmth slowly dripping through him, a feeling returning that had been briefly lost. 

Reaching behind, Paul groped at John's ass, bouncing it a little in his hands. "Don't get me started on this. It's perfect, so big and plush. Every night in bed, I can feel it pressed against me, and I actually can't believe how lucky I am." 

Paul grinned cheekily at that, and John laughed too, free and open. 

He brought his hands back, and placed them on John's round and pendulous belly. When he spoke his voice was both sultry and reverential. "And your belly. It's so heavy. So pale and creamy. Every time I look at it I think of every gorgeous evening that made it this way." 

He leaned close, and began to kiss along his tummy. Licking a strip along his overhang, tongue broaching his navel. Mouth sucking and teeth nipping all that soft, undulating flesh. John's knees felt weak, and he held onto Paul's shoulders to anchor himself. 

When his belly was suitably wet and ravished, hickeys forming, Paul pulled himself to his feet, and kissed John's plump neck, slow and sensual. John keened quietly, throwing his head back. He sucked up and across, nibbling at John's thick double chin, before finally, finally, finding his mouth. 

"You are so beautiful," he whispered into that hot space where their breath mingled, and John felt something icy within him, crack and melt. The seed of doubt that had been planted, and had grown into some kind of dark and twisted knotweed, was ripped out, root and stem. He could've cried. Instead he found Paul's eyes again.

"Okay, okay. You've convinced me," he said, faux-blasé, though Paul could hear the delighted shake in his voice. 

"Good," Paul beamed, placing a hand on each of John's jowls, cupping his face, stroking a rounded cheek with one index finger. 

"But we can't keep doing this." 

Paul's face fell. "What?"

John grinned impishly, and wrapped his arms around Paul's waist, pulling him flush to his soft body. "We can't keep doing this, because I'm starving. We've missed lunch." 

Paul's answering laughter blew the rest of his doubts away.

~

A few days later, Paul left John happily snacking on the sofa, while he had a bit of a wander to the shops. He had an incognito stop to make first though, and swung up their neighbour’s driveway, rapping on their door. 

They opened it, all confused smiles and neighbourly warmth. Paul’s answering smile was cold as ice. 

“Hi Paul! What’s up?” asked the woman, her tone so friendly that it only made Paul’s anger burn hotter.

Paul kept his voice totally level and expressionless as he answered. “Nothing much. I just wanted to let you know that John heard what you said about him, about us, the other day.” 

Both of their faces fell instantly, and they avoided Paul’s eyes, mortified. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” 

The tension in the air was thick and ugly, and Paul let it grow, and watched them squirm guiltily. Eventually the man replied. “We’re sorry. We were just joking, but yeah, it wasn’t a nice thing to say.”

If Paul had been more like John, he would’ve sneered at that, and called it the bullshit non-apology that it was. But he wasn’t, so he stayed calm and stone faced. 

“I don’t particularly care why you did it, I just wanted to tell you that I knew you had.”

Paul smirked then, humourless, and his parting words were too nonchalant to be truly threatening, yet sharp as a knife. “Don’t _ever_ do it again.”

Then he turned and walked away from their gaping faces, whistling, already thinking about what he was going to pick up from the supermarket instead. Maybe he should get John a treat from the dessert counter. A trifle maybe? A banoffee pie? Both? He deserved something nice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little different, a little more angsty, a little more sentimental. I really hope you still like it. The next one will be kinkier, don't worry. <3 
> 
> Your comments make my day! xxx


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been SO long!!! It was unintentional. But I hope you enjoy this, if any of you are still here, lmao. xxx

Somehow, despite the sometimes volatile combination of John's laziness and Paul's perfectionism, they managed to plan a wedding. Getting all their guests into their seats was like herding cats, especially since no-one particularly wanted to sit behind Mimi, who was sporting the largest lime green hat Paul had ever seen. 

Eventually everyone did take their places in the hotel wedding room, which was decked out with white bows and flowers, up the walls and tied to the chairs. 

Paul and John didn't have an aisle walk or anything like that, preferring to just already be at the front of the room, waiting. It didn't matter though, it wasn't like either of them was rocking a huge frilly gown. They'd both managed to get suits in the end, having gone to a different tailors after John's confidence had been suitably patched up. John's suit was a deep forest green, while Paul's was a navy blue. Both had a white bloom tucked in their button hole. 

John's suit was huge, but nicely cut, hanging flatteringly off his still steadily expanding frame. (Mimi had taken one look at said frame and winced at how much bigger it was since the last time she'd seen it, but blessedly, in a moment of wedding-induced mercy, had said nothing.) Anyhow, Paul had insisted that they spare no expense getting John a lovely well-made outfit, having previously been horrified by the lack of affordable fashion choices available to his boyfriend. And as much as he enjoyed lounging around in jersey, John was glad to be wearing something so high quality. 

Their wedding vows were short and sweet; both knowing from experience that any ceremony lasting more than half an hour will have _someone_ sighing and checking their watch mid-way through. 

Jim definitely wasn't crying, the pollen from the flowers was just irritating his eyes. And Mike, bless him, was happy but couldn't look at John and Paul for too long without getting unfortunate pizza-related flashbacks. 

When it was done, and they were told to kiss, Paul grinned so wide his face hurt, and kissed John with an open-mouthed ferocity that probably should have been kept behind closed doors. John laughed into the kiss, when he heard George whistle and Ringo whoop.

They fled the function room under a hail of confetti, running hand in hand into a side room for a moments privacy before the receiving line and the photos. The slight run had left John breathing heavily, but still grinning. His apple-round cheeks were flushed with happiness, and Paul couldn't help but run a gentle hand down that soft face. 

"I love you." 

John narrowed his eyes, voice filling with mock-suspicion. "Do you really?" 

Paul laughed at the ridiculousness of his original statement, given that both of their hairs were full of rainbow confetti from _their wedding._ Still, he played along, voice drawling and nonchalant. "Yeah, I reckon I might." 

His blank mask almost cracked at the cackle that brought from his husband, and he couldn't help the little _oof_ that escaped as John launched himself at him, kissing him once more. He wrapped his arms around John, or rather, tried to. Their last pre-wedding weigh in had showed John at 390lbs, and he looked and felt it. They were past the point that he could be fully encircled in Paul's arms. Rather, Paul just had to cling to him, and push as close as he could into that softness.

As the warm plush of John flesh pushed against him, even through layers of fabric, Paul squeezed, dizzy with affection. Surely nobody had ever been this happy. 

When they pulled away, both were beaming, their smiles almost stuck on their faces. It was Paul who took John's hand, and led him towards the room where the party would take place.

"C'mon, let's go shake everyone's hand and see how many toasters are on the gift table."

***

The answer was seven. Seven toasters. Now, John was fond of a big breakfast, but even he didn't have fourteen slices of toast to start the day. 

They giggled as they saw it, but tried to keep relatively straight faces as they greeted their guests, sipped prosecco, and posed for photos. By the time they’d taken their seats for the speeches, it was rolling into the evening, and as much as everyone’s speeches were lovely, John wished they’d just _get on with it_ so they could enjoy the six course meal the hotel was laying on. 

Paul could sense John’s restlessness, and jabbed him in the side with a pointy elbow when he started to look a bit too impatient. 

“ _Ow,_ ” John breathed dramatically, kicking Paul’s shin in retaliation. His husband didn’t even wince, the bastard. 

Eventually ( _eventually_ ) the speeches were over, and wait staff brought out the first course. John dug in immediately, ripping a bread roll in half, Paul grinned to see him so happy, then looked out at the room, smile faltering. 

Now, he’d planned every inch of this wedding down to the finest detail, and thought he’d considered everything. What he hadn’t considered was that he and John were seated at the top table, the only table that wasn’t round but straight, and was slightly raised. Which meant _everyone_ had a prime view of them eating their dinner. No-one was looking outright, but Paul caught a few glances, as John gulped back wine and devoured his whole soup course before Paul had even taken his first spoonful. He ate his own tentatively, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. 

It was three courses in before John caught on that some people were throwing them odd looks (not everyone, George was tittering to himself behind a napkin, and Mike was watching literally anything else.) John's cheeks turned red and blotchy, and he dropped his bruschetta back onto his plate. The sight made Paul’s stomach clench with sadness, until he felt something else bloom inside him. Defiance. He found John’s eyes and whispered fervently. 

“No. This is _our day_ , and we’re going to have fun. And that means enjoying this,” he grabbed John’s hand and squeezed it. John’s lips twitched, but he still looked torn. So Paul picked up the bruschetta, and took an embarrassingly messy bite, moaning exaggeratedly. He offered the rest of the piece to John, delighting when he smirked and leaned forward to eat the rest out of his hand. People suddenly returned to their own meals and conversations, embarrassed, and the newlyweds could eat in peace. So they did. 

John had picked out the meal with Paul, so he knew it was going to be good, but it was _so good_. And it just kept coming. Their wine was topped up continuously throughout the meal, so though they never ‘finished’ a glass, the fuzziness on the edges of their vision and the rosiness of John’s chubby cheeks told them they’d probably both had over a bottle each. John’s tummy felt like it was inflating in his lap, his waistband digging where it divided his belly in two, some of his hanging gut tucked in his trousers, some muffin topping above. He leant against Paul’s shoulder, hiding a moan against his neck. 

Paul made a sympathetic sound, subtly running a hand back and forth against that swollen arc, stifling a giggle with a wrinkled nose when John burped softly. 

By the time they finally had dessert, a strawberry mousse, John was all but missing his mouth with his spoon, stuffed and tipsy. Paul was alternately guiding his hand and dabbing at his face with an ivory cloth napkin. 

It was after the plates had been taken, and the lights dimmed a little, that they both had the same horrible realisation. 

“Oh shit, we’re supposed to dance,” John whined, back to leaning against Paul, fidgeting against the way his belly was domed with food. Paul grimaced, but helped a wobbly John to his feet all the same, a blinding smile already affixed for the guests looking at them expectantly. 

“Don’t worry, just hold onto me, we’ll just...sway a bit.”

So that’s what they did. John wrapped himself round Paul like an octopus, while Paul adjusted him to be taking some of his weight. They shuffled round the slippery dance floor, kissing gently, and it was almost passable. Paul even though he’d seen Mimi’s lipsticked mouth curve into a smile. Just a small one. 

*** 

It really was a lovely day, but still, they sighed in relief when they finally got to their hotel suite. John was peeling off his suit and chucking it on the floor the moment the heavy wood door swung shut, and Paul was doing the same, only he was folding his and slinging it over the arm of a chair.

John all but waddled over to the huge four-poster bed, stark naked, and lowered himself on top of the covers with a groan. “Oh thank _God_.”

Paul chuckled. “That bad? I thought it went okay.”

His husband craned his head, neck roll bulging, and grinned stupidly. “It was fine. All your planning paid off, don’t worry. I’ve just been daydreaming about this moment all day.”

The younger man surveyed the tableau in front of him, 176kgs of significant other sprawled out on the finest silk, and a wave of love and lust washed over him, so strong that his knees shook. When he replied, his voice was half-way between sultry and shaky. “So have I.”

The atmosphere in the room changed, and John opened his legs a little, invitingly. Not that it made a huge difference, everything just rolled and hung so much that all it did was cause a bit of wobbling. Still, Paul began to walk towards the bed, to take up that invitation, when he stopped short, catching sight of some white boxes piled up on a side table. 

“Oh, they brought the cake up!”

John snapped to attention. “Don’t just stare at it, bring some over.”

“Greedy,” Paul chided, even as he grabbed a box, and a towel, and strode to the bed. He heaved John up a little to lay the towel behind his head, protecting the sheets from any mess. 

“Oh my God, you are so anal,” John teased, but lay down on it willingly. 

Paul snapped open the box, sliced red velvet wedding cake inside, covered in thick white icing. He dangled it over John’s face, watching as he opened his mouth needily. He was right to bring the towel, there was no way to eat it daintily, the slices far too big and too crammed with frosting. John made indecent sounds as he all but sucked the cake out of Paul’s hands, and something about them made Paul hand the cake box off to John, and begin kissing him. To begin with he kissed that chewing, messy mouth, tasting the cake. Then he moved down to his thick, vanishing neck. 

He mouthed lower still, licking his soft chest, before pushing himself further down, pressing kisses all over John’s thick, spread belly. Feeling slightly raised stretchmarks beneath his lips, broaching that deep navel with his tongue, enjoying the way John jerked and let out a muffled-by-cake cry. 

Finally, he was settled between John’s soft legs. It took both hands to push and hold up John’s tummy, and reveal his leaking hard cock. When he took it in his mouth John all but thrashed on the bed, whining. Paul worked fast, head bobbing, while his hands gripped at and groped the overhang he was lifting, hard enough to leave bruises. The thought of purple handprints on John's wobbly pale flab made his own dick throb. All the while John was still eating cake with trembling hands. When Paul's mouth finally brought him over the edge, his fist clenched a slice to mush. 

For his own climax Paul pulled himself back up, already so on the verge that all he had to do was rut against John’s squishy but stuffed firm belly, before he was painting it with his cum. He collapsed atop John, panting, and seeing stars. “Love you,” he muttered, smiling blearily when John returned it.

Their sweat was cool and sticky by the time they started to clean up. Or rather, Paul started to clean up. 

He wiped them both down, and balled up the towel. The bed creaked as John set himself up in it properly, getting beneath the covers. 

Before getting into bed, Paul noticed there was one slice of cake left in the box, picked it up and began to nibble, standing leaning against the table. He’d almost finished it when he noticed John staring, his eyebrows raised. 

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing…” John dismissed, whipping down a corner of bedding cheekily. “I just want my darling husband to come to bed.”

Paul finished the last bite, and all but ran to the four-poster. He didn’t need any more convincing than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank-you to the friends who give me the encouragement and love to update, you know who you are and I looove you. <3 
> 
> Thank-you everyone else for reading and I hope you like it. Let me know if you do! x


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